


Soul Sisters

by ackermom



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Music Students, Alternate Universe - Sorority, Background Relationships, F/F, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Marijuana, Mental Health Issues, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Ymir centric, everyone is thirsty, reiner is transgender, sasha is deaf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2019-07-06 00:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 166,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15874935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ackermom/pseuds/ackermom
Summary: "Sororities are for straight girls," Ymir had said. "I could never join a sorority."Then she met the vice president of Zeta Chi.





	1. you could be the one

**Author's Note:**

> i had a long, heartfelt author’s note written, but then i accidentally deleted it. so now we're here!
> 
> i wrote this fic as a fun project and something not to take too seriously, but i’m really pleased with how it turned out. i actually got really sad giving this chapter one last edit tonight, because the friendships in this are so reminiscent of my own, except now we've all graduated and i'm in europe and my friends are in med/grad school back in the states... timezone fomo is real. 
> 
> please read the tags and warnings before reading. they will be updated as the story progresses. i'm choosing not to add all the tags from the beginning because the entire fic is unfinished, so some things may change from the first draft. i will add specific warnings in the notes before some chapters. also there are a lot of background/past ships in this fic. you have been warned.
> 
> soul sisters will update every monday around 9pm CET (3pm ET)! tomorrow i’m leaving for a remote conference with limited internet access, so the first chapter is here a bit early. 
> 
> please enjoy!

There are worse things than carrying a bassoon case through the woods.

At least, this is what Ymir tells herself, over and over, a mantra repeated under her breath to keep her sane as she carries a bassoon case through the woods: it could be worse.

It could be, for instance, that she has been carrying a bassoon case through the woods for twelve weeks straight.

It could be that she has been carrying a bassoon case through the woods for twelve weeks straight in the scorching heat of the summer, and it could be that she has also been herding a parade of pre-pubescent children, who are wielding cheap plastic instruments like vuvuzelas at a World Cup match and blowing their terrible attempts at music right into her face.

It could be that someone decided to open a summer music camp in the woods, and that Ymir has had the misfortune of working at said camp.

Ymir takes a deep breath and repeats her mantra. It could be worse.

 **Text from Reiner  
** yeah idk that sounds about as bad as it gets  
you hate the outdoors  
and children

 **Text from Ymir  
** im trying to have a positive attitude  
like zen and stuff

 **Text from Reiner  
** zen and stuff

 **Text from Ymir  
** yeah

 **Text from Reiner  
** is it working

 **Text from Ymir  
** it's fucking not

It could be that Ymir spends the summer before her junior year of college carrying a bassoon case through the woods, talking herself down from choking young children with reeds, and incessantly complaining to her only friends via brief text conversations, because they are in a timezone approximately six hours ahead of her having approximately the time of their lives.

No, wait. That's exactly how it is.

Everyone Ymir knows is on tour: the summer tour that she didn't get into because she showed up to her audition two hours later, probably still half-asleep, definitely still cross-faded.

Whatever. It's fine. She's having a great summer.

At least she isn't gallivanting across Europe with all of her friends and classmates, being dragged to concert halls and opera houses, receiving ovations and commendations. That would have been miserable.

So.

There are always worse things.

Ymir repeats this mantra again when she steps into her new dorm room for the first time. She can hear her mom's car screeching out of the parking lot, leaving her alone, again, with her bassoon, her backpack, and a bunch of cardboard boxes dumped on the floor of her new room.

The ceilings are low, the walls are damp, and the air smells like cheap weed and stale farts. She knew she wouldn't be in for much as long as she still lived on campus, but she had thought- _hoped_ \- that the upperclassmen dorms would at least feel a little less like cinderblock boxes. No such luck.

Still, she has her own room for the first time. No more late night weirdos or sexiles. And if these cinderblock walls are as thick as they look, then maybe she can get away with practicing bassoon here too.

Ymir takes a breath (immediately regrets it, probably inhales more dank mildew dust than any person should in one breath) and repeats her mantra. It could be worse.

Her precious bassoon survived its' humid summer camp thrill ride, and that's the most important thing. Ymir wouldn't have anything if she didn't have this slender hunk of maple wood. Right now that, that is enough.

Right now, as the semester begins anew, the promise of her fateful junior recital on the horizon, of another year filled with late night concerts and later night practices, this is enough.

Right now, she can handle anything.

"You're not playing in chamber this year?" Bertholdt exclaims the second he opens the door.

"Oh, fuck off!" Ymir yells back.

"You said you were playing in chamber again," Bertholdt says. "So we're just wondering-"

Ymir shoves past him to get into the apartment. She pushes a little harder than necessary, her keys _accidentally_ stabbing him in his freakishly long abdomen, and grits her teeth.

"It's nice to see you too, asshole," she exclaims. "How the fuck was Europe?"

"Dr. Mikkelsen said you dropped out of chamber a while ago," Bertholdt says as the door slams. "I can't believe you're dropping chamber, of all things-"

"Fuck chamber," Ymir exclaims. "I hate chamber."

She charges into the apartment at full speed before she realizes how extraordinarily tiny it is, and she stops in the center of the living room, stumbling over an unpacked moving box at her feet. The room is hardly furnished; in fact, there's just a small loveseat against one wall and a pair of camping chairs set up to imitate an actual living room. The rest of the floor is littered with boxes, and by the looks of it, no one's made any real effort at unpacking them.

"I thought you guys moved in last week," Ymir says, glancing around. "What's all this shit doing here?"

Bertholdt juts up behind her and stumbles over a box to head into the kitchen. "We've just been busy."

"Reiner, this shit isn't giving you mad anxiety?"

"What's giving me anxiety," Reiner says from the kitchen, staring intently at his phone, "is how fucked your classes are."

Ymir kicks a box out of her way (immediately regrets that too, because by the way her toes are throbbing, it was filled with fucking bricks or- wait, no, just a shit ton of sheet music) and moves towards the small kitchen. "What?"

"You're not playing in chamber anymore," Reiner says without looking up, "and you dropped that math class too?"

"Fuck math," Ymir exclaims. "I'll take something else in the spring."

"You should have finished your gen eds last spring."

"Good, so I'm only a year behind. How'd you know that I dropped?"

"You're still playing in symphony, obviously," Reiner says, ignoring her. "Then you've got lessons, music history, and anthropology?"

"I need a writing credit."

"And then woodwind quartet," Reiner says, finally looking up. "Holy shit, you got tan."

"What?" Ymir glances down at her freckled arms. "That's my normal skin color, you pasty asshole."

"No, you're definitely a little toastier than usual."

"Well, I did get to spend my entire summer beating kids to death with my bassoon," Ymir says. She drops her keys onto the kitchen counter. "But I had to do it in the sunlight. Those little shits can run, you know?"

"I can't believe you dropped chamber for wind quartet," Reiner says, glancing back down at his phone.

"I need a fucking ensemble credit!"

"Yeah, but did it have to be this ensemble?" Reiner exclaims. "You know this means you have to get along with the clarinetists, right?"

"Whatever, I'll fucking own them," Ymir says. She reaches across the counter and snatches his phone out of his hands. "Where'd you get my class schedule?"

"Dr. Mikkelsen sent it to us," Bertholdt says, his head inside the fridge as he searches for something.

Ymir slaps Reiner's phone back into his hand. "We hate Dr. Mikkelsen."

Reiner shakes his head and reaches for what looks like a half-finished protein shake. "No, we don't. He's cool now. Wanna try this?"

" _No_ ," Ymir exclaims, wrinkling her nose. "And _no_ , he's fucking not."

"He is, though," Reiner says. "We got him drunk in Paris and he told us about all the orgies he used to have in the eighties. He's done, like, every drug."

"I'm glad you guys had so much fun yanking his dick on tour," Ymir says. "I, also, had a lot of fun this summer."

Bertholdt slams the fridge door. "You seemed kind of depressed on Snapchat."

"Thanks for reaching out, asshole."

Ymir starts back into the living room, rolling her eyes, and Reiner follows her.

"I just can't believe you'd drop out of chamber," he exclaims. "What will we do without our bassoonist?"

Ymir collapses on one end of the sofa, shoving a ridiculous collection of decorative pillows out of her way, and accepts the cheap beer that Bertholdt silently offers her before sitting down on the other end.

"Not my problem," Ymir says. "You don't need a bassoonist anyways."

"You're gonna miss out on all the good drama," Reiner says as he settles into one of the camping chairs across from the couch. "Who will I make faces at across the stage?"

"You're gonna be sitting right across from Frieda, aren't you?" Ymir asks, slouching down. She throws her feet up onto a nearby cardboard box. "Just eyefuck her."

Bertholdt shakes his head. "Frieda's not coming back this year."

Ymir glances at him. "Wait, what?"

"Yeah, she, uh, had family issues or something."

"So she's just not finishing her degree?"

"If she is, she's not doing it here," Bertholdt says, shrugging. "Zeke is our new concertmaster."

"Ew, what the fuck?" Ymir exclaims. She drowns her disdain with a mouthful of terrible beer. "All the more reason to get the fuck out of there! If I had to see his stupid face more than once a week- Bertholdt, why the hell did you give me this shit?"

"We're trying to get rid of them. Want some free beer bottles? They come with terrible beer."

"We'll miss you in chamber," Reiner says with a wistful sigh.

Ymir snorts. "I'm gonna see you every fucking day. We have almost every other class together."

"I know, but chamber is always such a shit show," Reiner says. "I'm just sad we won't be able to share that anymore."

If Ymir is being honest, she does feel a little guilty. She promised that she would stick with chamber for at least one more semester, if only because she needs the orchestra credit and couldn't be bothered to audition for symphonic band. And now she's abandoning them just for some weird ego-fueled power trip over Dr. Mikkelsen.

After her disastrous audition for the summer tour, she didn't know if she'd be able to stand working with him anymore. She can't completely escape him since he advises the junior class on their recitals every year, but last spring, the band director happened to mention how nice it would be to have the school's only bassoonist in a wind quartet, and well, who is Ymir to deny her that dream? So she dropped chamber and enlisted in the quartet. She may kill a clarinetist, but they'll probably do something to deserve it. And as an added bonus, she'll only have to put up with incessant string drama in symphony.

It's those damn violinists. There's always _something_.

"Oh, well," Reiner sighs, shaking his protein smoothie. "Sadness over."

"You're still coming to the party this weekend," Bertholdt asks, turning to Ymir. "Right?"

Ymir stares at him. "What fucking party?"

"Oh, there's a party this weekend."

"Thanks, that was helpful."

"It's just an end-of-summer thing," he continues, ignoring her. "With the usual people."

"I don't know why you guys act like I know what's going on," Ymir says. "You know I don't talk to people."

Reiner scrolls through his phone. "You should just let Pieck add you to the group chat. Then we wouldn't have to spoon-feed invitations to you."

Ymir grimaces. "She's fucking crazy. I'm not giving her my number."

"She's only drunk-called me, like, twenty times," Reiner says, "which is, like, fifty times less than you have. Bert, remember when you made out with her? Freshman year at that Halloween party? Tell us about that again."

"Yeah, Bertholdt," Ymir says, leaning over to nudge him. "Tell us about that."

"We've all made mistakes, especially at Halloween parties," Bertholdt says. He glances at Reiner. "Speaking of regrets, are you sure it's safe for you to show your face at this party?"

"Shut up," Reiner mutters.

Ymir raises an eyebrow. "Explain."

"It's also a housewarming party," Bertholdt says, "for Marcel and Porco."

Ymir bursts out laughing, tossing her head back. "Hey, Reiner, I don't know where you get off bringing up anyone else's bad decisions! Remember when you fucked Porco Galliard?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Reiner mutters, slinking down in his seat. "Also, it's been two years and it's not funny anymore."

"I think it's pretty funny," Bertholdt says.

"It's pretty fucking funny," Ymir says.

"You hit your low point three days into college," Bertholdt says. "Reiner, tell us about that again?"

"Can we agree to never bring this up again for the rest of our lives?"

"Tell us about it, Reiner," Ymir says. "I mean, shit, you were drunk right?"

"He wasn't _that_ drunk," Bertholdt says. "It was just the first time he'd left the house without his helicopter mother hovering over him and he thought, you know, I'll celebrate by fucking my dickhead of a stand partner."

"Never fuck your stand partner," Ymir exclaims, raising her beer."

There's no response from Reiner, who has slunk so far down into his seat that he's practically prone on the floor.

Bertholdt turns back to Ymir. "So, the party should be fun."

"Yeah, sounds like it," she says. "I always thought cellos were cool, but you guys are actually the worst."

"Well, Porco's mad that Reiner got first chair, I think, but Marcel's cool about it."

"Even though you beat Marcel for second chair?"

"Yeah, well, Marcel beat Porco for third, so we're all in our rightful place now."

"Fuck," Ymir exclaims. "Shit's gonna do down in the cello section this year."

"Consider yourself lucky," Bertholdt grumbles. "The only section drama you have to deal with is whatever you create yourself."

"They just lump me in with the fucking oboes," Ymir mutters. "Like, just because I'm the only bassoonist-"

"Alright, we get it," Bertholdt says, cutting her off. "We've heard this rant before."

"Maybe you can get along with Dr. Mikkelsen this year," Reiner says, sitting upright again. "Because we definitely like him now."

The last time Ymir saw Dr. Mikkelsen, she was in his office begging for a redo of an important audition that she missed because she was drunk, high, and fast asleep.

"Maybe," she says.

It was a long, lonely summer, but even after all that time to reflect in the woods while chucking reeds at miscreant children, Ymir is not sure she's ready to try and get along with Dr. Mikkelsen. After all, that would mean accepting her failure and admitting her mistakes. And who wants to do that? For now, she'll play her usual standoffish self, but maybe Reiner and Bertholdt will prove to be right. Maybe, somewhere down the line, she'll receive something other than soul-crushing criticism from Dr. Mikkelsen.

"Many students fail their junior recital," is the first thing he says when she walks into his office that week.

He examines her over the thin rims of his glasses.

"You might be one of them," he says.

Ymir stands in his doorway and stares at him.

"Right," she says. "Okay."

It could have been worse, she supposes, although she leaves that first meeting with an armful of new sheet music, a 10 minute lecture about professionalism, and absolutely zero encouragement about her fate concerning the junior recital.

Whatever, it's just a recital, right? It's just, like, a thirty minute long performance that should be the culmination of her musical career, has cost her thousands of dollars and millions of tears, and will determine if she is allowed to remain in the music school and finish her degree.

Like, whatever. It could be worse.

The rest of the week passes without affair, which, like, thank god, because after that initial meeting with Dr. Mikkelsen, Ymir was ready to have a breakdown in the middle of symphony rehearsal. But she finds herself content when classes begin anew, because it means a familiar routine with familiar faces and familiar expectations. She settles into the normal swing of things, which means ignoring the other woodwinds, nearly falling asleep in music history, and then going home and furiously texting Reiner to stop sending her snaps while she's binge watching Netflix.

She's going to keep her head down this year, like her mother has always been telling her to do. She's never been a great student, but she can at least be good. She needs to stay on everyone's good side after she failed to make last summer's tour, and let's be honest, it's not like she was doing so hot last semester either. She's got scholarships to maintain, and she can't do that if she fucks up in any more of her classes.

Ymir is going to stay out of everyone's way and try her best, even if it kills her.

It might kill her.

She winds up sitting next to Marcel in anthropology, and while she's grateful that he's not Porco (if she had to see that butt face three times a week, she might run him through with his own bow), she's annoyed that Marcel manages to carry over all the chamber drama that Ymir was trying to avoid. He's enrolled in anthro, by the way, not because he's behind on his gen eds like Ymir, but because he's the worst overachiever she's ever met and he's obsessed with something called ethnomusicology. So, he's a nerd and Ymir is skipping this class from now on.

"I'm trying to tell him it's not a big deal," Marcel says, chatting nonchalantly as the professor waltzes into the classroom. "It's such a small school and we've got a good sized orchestra, but still, bad attitudes carry, you know, and people gossip-"

Ymir wonders if she could silence him with a reed.

"I mean, I don't mind, so why should he? But you know what Porco's like. He can't let things go. He thinks that Reiner did something shady to get first chair, which is ridiculous, because we all know how hard Reiner has been working-"

"He's right," Ymir says, cutting him off. "Reiner fucked Dr. Mikkelsen."

Marcel knows that she's joking. At least that's what he professes, red-faced and stuttering.

 **Text from Reiner  
** he's not even my type

 **Text from Ymir  
** didnt u have an orgy with him in paris or something  
anyways hes like seven feet tall  
hes exactly like your type

 **Text from Bertholdt  
** hilarious  
now stop adding me to this group chat

**Bertholdt has left the chat.**

**Text from Ymir  
** rip  
can't believe he doesn't want to get spammed by dank memes

 **Text from Reiner  
** dont worry ill show them to him

 **Text from Ymir  
** ur a true and loyal friend

With the first week of classes finally over, the first big weekend of the semester arrives: _welcome back to campus and get fucked up at the party of your choice_. The gas station south of campus is already bustling with students when Ymir meets Reiner and Bertholdt there. She squeezes past a group of girls in heels (freshmen), a pair of girls in sneakers (seniors), and finds her friends just in time to lift the six-pack of beer they have recently illegally purchased, because, like, who would question that Reiner is any age other than Permanently Beefy?

They escape the crowded store and walk to the Galliards' house off campus ("it's nice outside and I want to hold Bert's hand"). Somehow Ymir ends up carrying the beer, providing directions, and third-wheeling on the sidewalk, despite the fact that she has no idea where she's going and doesn't particularly want to get there anyways. She gets them lost on some dimly lit side road, then another, and then finally finds her way to the right house.

"Thanks for that sightseeing tour," Bertholdt says as Ymir hammers on the doorbell.

"What do you want from me?" she exclaims, glancing over her shoulder. "I didn't bring a fucking map."

"Their house is five blocks from campus. It took you twenty minutes to get us here."

"Well, I didn't see either of you offering directions," Ymir says. She rings the doorbell again. "I'm doing them the courtesy of not just barging in and they can't even be bothered to instantly answer the door. Why's the house so quiet? Reiner, did you fuck up the date again?"

"No," Reiner exclaims. "And if you were in the group chat, then you would know-"

"Yeah, whatever."

Reiner is already checking the group chat. "Oh, they're all out back."

"There's a backyard?"

"Are you familiar with the concept?" Bertholdt asks.

Ymir glares at him. "I'm just making sure out back isn't slang for a needle-ridden alleyway where we're about to be murdered."

"Well, no promises." Reiner's phone buzzes. "Pieck wants to know if any of us brought a knife."

Ymir glares at both of them. "No one give her a knife."

Out back is, kind of disappointingly, not a needle-ridden alleyway, but rather a small, fenced yard full of music students. There's a bonfire in the center of the yard, encircled by an array of sprawling chairs. Someone's phone is hooked up to the speakers, blasting a song that Ymir doesn't recognize, but the music attracts a decent amount of dancers who, despite studying music, manage to have no rhythm on the dance floor. The rest of the partygoers are scattered: woodwind players raiding the coolers, violinists bitching by the fireside (they were invited, really), and of course, the percussionists are doing shots on the stoop.

Marcel waves at them from the bonfire. "Hey, you guys made it!"

"Sure did," Ymir chirps back. "Your fearless section leader brought you a whole _six_ beers."

"The more, the merrier!"

God, he's the worst.

The party's not crazy, but it's definitely cozy; although maybe not for Ymir, who instantly abandons Reiner and Bertholdt because she could not stand making another minute of small talk with Marcel and his welcome wagon. Against her better judgment, she wanders over to the stoop and lets Pieck pour her a shot (what the fuck was that), then grabs a beer and settles down in a chair at the edge of the bonfire circle.

She watches the party from a distance. Reiner and Bertholdt make their way around the campfire, saying their hellos, then gradually move away from the crowd until they've disappeared into the darkness, probably to say gross things like how much they love each other. Pieck makes rounds with a tray of shots. Ymir passes the first time, but then she runs out of beer, and hell, it's a fucking party. So the next time Pieck passes, Ymir grabs two shots, kicks back in her garden chair and lets the tequila work its magic.

It's going to be a good year. She can feel it.

The party is just about at its peak when the back gate swings open again, and Ymir watches a group of impeccably dressed girls step through. They move as a squad, shining beneath the dim porch light. Ymir furrows her brow.

Who the fuck-

"Hey, ladies!" Marcel calls as he makes his way over to them. "I thought you weren't going to make it!"

Ymir's never seen them before, so they're not music students. Besides, they look like they've retained some kind of sanity. Humanities majors, probably. Maybe business. So how the fuck does Marcel know them? And what are they doing here? They're beautiful, every last one of them. Damn, she should've been a business major.

"She's his dealer," a voice says in her ear.

Ymir lurches out of her chair, swearing. She glances over her shoulder to find Pieck hovering near her, carrying a plastic cup of something that smells wickedly potent.

"Okay, first of all," Ymir exclaims. "You have to stop doing that. Also, what?"

Pieck points to one of the girls, who Marcel is now leading around the campfire, making introductions. "She's his dealer."

"Marcel?" Ymir exclaims. "No fucking way."

Pieck shrugs. "He's wicked nervous."

"Well, who the fuck isn't?"

"He's just discreet about it," Pieck says. "And by discreet, I mean he doesn't get high before a big audition and then vomit in Dr. Mikkelsen's office."

"I actually vomited in the trash can outside Dr. Mikkelsen's office," Ymir says. "But... point taken."

Pieck chugs the rest of her drink as if for punctuation.

Ymir is left with another drink in her hand (she swears Pieck just conjures them out of nowhere) and a nagging curiosity about Marcel's marijuana habits. There's no way he smokes. He's probably an edibles guy.

Her wandering thoughts are interrupted again when one of the newcomers comes too close to Ymir's do-not-disturb zone, as if she can't read the antisocial vibes that Ymir is projecting into the universe. Maybe she just doesn't care.

Ymir jerks upright in her chair, startled by the sudden presence, but the girl isn't looking at her. She's taking a lap around the party, a freshly opened beer in her hand, observing everything from the perimeter. From a distance, Ymir could tell that each of these girls were gorgeous. But up close- well, this one is a dead knockout. She's dolled up in a short white dress and some shoes that are definitely not easy to walk in, but she moves effortlessly, blonde hair brushing back over her shoulders.

When she catches Ymir watching her, she gives a quick nod.

"Is this the time out corner?" she asks.

If anyone less beautiful had asked, Ymir would have told them to fuck off. But this angel might have a point. Ymir has dragged her chair out to the edge of the fence, barely even a part of the party anymore, and even pulled out an empty cooler for a footrest. She abandons it now as an offering to the goddess in her presence.

"Yeah," Ymir says as the girl sits down on the cooler. "They sent me back here because I kept trying to cast spells over the bonfire."

The girl smiles.

Ymir grins. "I haven't seen you around here before."

"I'm part of the talent. The strip show'll be starting in a few minutes."

Ymir snorts into her drink.

The girl takes a sip of her beer. "I'm kidding."

"Ha," Ymir says. "Yeah, I- yeah, that's funny."

She smiles again, and Ymir's heart nearly bursts out of her chest.

"I'm just here with my friends," the girl says, gesturing vaguely over her shoulder. "Siobhan and Marcel are kind of hitting it off, so she brought us along as moral support."

"Good plan," Ymir says. "No one has ever turned away four cute girls at a party."

The girl grins.

"Hi," she says. "I'm Historia."

"I'm Ymir."

"That's a good name," Historia says. "Scandinavian or something?"

Ymir shrugs. "I always thought my mom just made it up. It's pretty fucking stupid, either way."

"Oh, well, I know that feeling," Historia says. "I used to go by my middle name."

"Which is...?"

"Christa."

Ymir can't help but laugh. "Your parents named you Historia Christa?"

"They couldn't decide which one would ruin my life more," she says, "so they chose both."

Ymir snorts. "I mean. I kind of like Historia. It suits you."

Historia smiles. "I think I've grown into it."

She takes another sip of beer, and Ymir watches.

"So, I was told," Ymir says, gesturing at Historia's friend across the yard, "that this girl is Marcel's dealer. Was I misinformed, or does the crush come free with the purchase?"

"I think it's a promotion she's doing," Historia says. "You know, buy some weed, get a free blowjob."

The mental image of Marcel Galliard receiving a blowjob pops into Ymir's mind for only a second, but even that is far too long.

"Oh my god," she mutters.

"Or maybe it's just a coincidence," Historia offers. "He doesn't strike me as the fling type."

"No," Ymir says. "He's, like, the save it for marriage type."

Historia raises her eyebrows. "Really?"

"Well, I don't fucking know, actually, but, I mean, you've met him, right?"

"He did call me _ma'am_."

"Right, so you see where I get my suspicions."

"What about his brother?" Historia asks, nodding her head towards the other Galliard. He's camped out near the bonfire, desperately trying to get Pieck's attention as she cracks a raw egg into a shot glass and shoves it towards a reluctant violist. "He seems like a jackass."

"Huge jackass," Ymir says. "Jury's still out on his sexuality."

"He seems pretty keen to get into _her_ pants."

"He also fucked Reiner in the first week of college."

Historia grins. "Which one is Reiner?"

"The one that looks like a piece of beef."

She points right at him. "That one?"

"Mm-hmm."

"He's gay."

"Oh, yeah."

"And the string bean is his boyfriend?"

Ymir grins. "You're a quick learner."

Historia turns back to her, smiling. "I'm good at reading people. Plus, they've been groping each other since I got here, so that kind of gave it away."

"They've been together for, like, forever," Ymir says, then pauses. "I mean, for, like, a year. Maybe less than that? I don't know, it was a long process of them getting together, but Bertholdt managed to knock some sense into Reiner after he fucked Porco, so-"

"I'm sorry, what?" Historia exclaims, barely able to contain her laughter. "His name is Porco?"

Ymir smirks. "Oh yeah, you didn't know that?"

"He just told me to call him Galliard," she says. "I thought it was kind of weird to go by your last name when you go to the same school as your brother, but I guess I understand now."

She takes another swig of beer and glances around the yard. The party's beginning to die down as the alcohol runs out, and a few people are slipping out the back gate as the bonfire slowly crackles away.

"So, this is how the music students party," Historia says. She brushes her hair back over her shoulders and turns back to Ymir. "For some reason, I thought you guys would got a lot harder than this."

"Wait until jury season," Ymir says, leaning back in her chair. "The keyboards are covered in coke lines."

"Hm, I used to play piano," Historia says. "I never did coke on it, but there's a first time for everything, I guess."

"That's what college is for, isn't it? Experimenting."

"Sure."

"That's what I tell my mother when she asks why I always sound high on the phone."

Historia laughs. "You're funny. Are you a singer?"

"Me?" Ymir exclaims. "A vocalist? Fuck no."

"Sorry, did I touch a nerve?"

"They're not even a real part of the music school," she says. "They're just- sorry, you're not a singer, are you?"

Historia smiles. "No, you're safe."

"Good, because I would've had to escort you out of this party."

"Haha."

"No, they're just, like, terrible people, and vocal performance isn't even a major here, you know, they're just all high school chorus girls missing their glory days."

"So, not a vocalist," Historia says.

"Fuck no," Ymir says. "I play bassoon."

"Wow," Historia says, raising her eyebrows. "Really?"

Ymir blinks. "Wait, is that actually surprising?"

"You seem a little too edgy for bassoon," Historia says, then pauses to look her up and down. "I would have guessed percussion, you know, something that really sticks it to the man."

"Excuse me, bassoon is totally edgy."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, actually. And I'm the only bassoon player in this entire damn school, so I'm always sticking it to the man, everywhere I go."

"So, you're automatically first chair of the bassoon section, then."

"Well, I don't like to brag, but I'm also last chair."

If Ymir had to guess, she would pin this girl as one of the more studious humanities majors. English, maybe. She seems like she reads. Or maybe something a little more creative. Art history?

"So, what's your major?" Ymir asks and immediately winces. It's the dread college pick-up line, and Historia got there so flawlessly without even having to ask.

She just smiles and says, "Computer science."

Ymir stares at her. "Shit, really?"

"Yeah. Surprised?"

"I mean... yeah."

"Most people are," Historia says, swirling her beer. "I don't really love it, I guess, but I'm a good problem solver. That's all it is, really, just fucking around until you figure shit out."

"That doesn't sound too bad," Ymir says. "I have a friend- it was Bertholdt, the string bean boyfriend- he took computing as a math credit in his first semester. I've never seen someone have more panic attacks over one class, and that's including juries."

Historia laughs. "That's the class they use to weed people out of the major. Why the hell did he take it?"

"He's an idiot," Ymir says. "But that pretty much convinced him that cello is the only thing he can do."

"I used to think I was going to be a teacher," Historia says. "I came in as a freshman with all these big ideas about how I was going to change the world."

"And you ended up in computer science?"

"Well, I have a friend in the design program," Historia says. "She had to take computing and I just hitched along for the ride, but I ended up being pretty good at it."

"So, you've given up on your teaching dreams then?" Ymir asks. "Or just realized that you hated kids?"

"I thought I was going to help kids," Historia says, glancing down at her beer bottle. "The ones who are neglected by the school system. But the education program here isn't that great, and I just realized that I can be more useful in other places."

She looks back to Ymir. "Since we're playing 20 questions, why don't you tell me how you got into music?"

"My mom wanted to keep me out of the house for as long as possible," Ymir says. "And I was shit at sports, so band it was."

Historia laughs. "But why'd you pick the bassoon?"

Ymir shrugs. "It seemed like the gayest instrument."

This time, Historia really laughs. It's beautiful, the way she does it, the curled ends of her blonde hair falling back over her shoulders, a hand help up to her mouth to stifle the noise. She doesn't quite succeed. Her outburst is loud enough that Ymir can see Reiner and Bertholdt turning to stare at them from across the yard. She gives them a thumbs-up behind Historia's back. Reiner holds a V in front of his mouth and tongues it. Bertholdt slaps his hand down.

"You're funny," Historia sasy when she catches her breath. "Has anyone ever told you that you're funny?"

It occurs to Ymir then that they've both had a couple of drinks. She didn't realize it before, but the way Historia looks at her with tears in her eyes, still grinning- well, it's drunk and angelic, the way she does it, and then Ymir is grinning too, laughing at her own joke.

"Yeah, I guess," she says. "I mean, no, no one's ever told me that, except for you, just now, but I-"

Then it occurs to her that Historia is sitting awfully close, and before she knows it, Historia is leaning in and kissing her.

Her lips are warm against Ymir's skin. She tastes like cold beer, like bonfire smoke, like lip gloss. Her hand works its way behind Ymir's neck, gripping at her short hair, and then Ymir has her hands on Historia too, pressing her fingers against Historia's soft jaw.

Historia kisses her again, and Ymir thinks, _shit_ , there has never been a more perfect moment than this. Her heart races. Fuck. Is it possible to fall in love with someone she just met?

"Hey," a voice says.

Historia breaks away, humming, and glances over her shoulder. Ymir looks up. It's the two other girls that Historia came with, their purses slung over their shoulders.

"We're heading out," one of the girls says. "Wanna walk with us?"

"I thought they were hitting it off," Historia says, frowning.

The other girl smirks. "Yeah, they're inside. She'll text us if she needs anything."

Damn, Marcel's got game. More than his brother, Ymir notes, as she glances around the dying party in a daze. Pieck is sitting knee to knee with a hot trumpet player while Porco glowers in the background, his arms crossed.

"Oh," Historia says. "Well, I guess our job is done. Let's get out of here."

She's on her feet before Ymir can protest, leaving her empty beer bottle on top of the cooler. "It was nice to meet you, Ymir," she says, raising a hand in goodbye. "And to kiss you and everything. See you around."

Historia turns and follows her friends out of the party. Just like that, she's gone.

Ymir sits on the edge of her chair, frozen. Her drink remains untouched in her hand, and as she glances around the yard, blinking against the bright porch light that shines against the night sky, she realizes what just happened. That was- she was just here. She was here, and then she was gone. She left Ymir with nothing but a name, an empty beer bottle, and a dream on her lips.

When Porco comes around later to kick her out, Ymir is staring forlornly at the beer bottle that Historia left behind. 

"Get out of my yard," he says, tugging on the back of her chair. "And get off my chair."

"This is all that she left behind," Ymir mutters. She reaches for the beer bottle and holds it up to the dying firelight, staring at the pink stain on the rim. "This is her glass slipper."

Porco stares at her. "What the fuck did you take?"

"An arrow," Ymir exclaims. "Right through my heart."

"What?"

"I'm in love, you stupid fuck!" She pauses. "Wait, where are Bert and Ernie?"

"They left without you."

" _What?_ "

"Yeah, they saw you making out with that girl and I guess they figured you had it covered," Porco says, tightening his grip on the chair. "Did you need them to stick around and babysit?"

"I needed them to walk me home!" Ymir exclaims. "I don't know where the fuck I am!"

Porco yanks the chair out from under her. She goes sprawling into the grass, the beer bottle clutched tightly against her chest, her drink spilling across her legs and flooding into the soil.

"Yeah, well," he says. "I need you to get the fuck out."

Ymir spends the first Saturday night of her junior year of college trudging home in the dark, with nothing to keep her company except a slew of angry texts and a beer bottle with a lip gloss stain. It's not the worst night of her life though, and she makes it back to her cramped dorm room in one piece. She collapses onto the bed, exhausted, and holds the beer bottle up to the fluorescent lights.

A warm drop of beer splashes into her eye.

It could be worse, Ymir tells herself. This time, she means it.


	2. love is a destination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously on soul sisters: ymir met the love of her life at a drunken bonfire. this week: she follows cinderella's beer bottle, even when it leads her somewhere she doesn't want to go.

The first thing Ymir does on Sunday morning is wonder why she’s cuddling a beer bottle in her sleep. The second thing she does is taste gloss on her lips. The third thing she does is remember the night before.  

She remembers Historia’s voice, soft and sweet, but decisive, her words firm and confident. She remembers the way Historia looked by the bonfire, her golden hair illuminated by the flames and her bright eyes sparkling against the night sky. She remembers Historia’s smile. She remembers the kiss. 

Then she remembers that she didn’t brush her teeth before going to bed last night, which, like,  gross. 

_Then_  she realizes that she's late for brunch, and then she decides that she's going to be even later for brunch, because she needs a fucking shower. By the time Ymir is dressed and out the door, she has a dozen missed texts from Reiner, demanding to know how she could be so late for something so sacred.

Sunday morning brunch is a weekly tradition. Ymir's almost always late anyways, but she's really running behind today. Not that she particularly cares if she shows up on time, because once Reiner and Bertholdt didn’t show up  at all  (she was annoyed until she found out they’d actually been at church, and then she was just grossed out, she would have rather known that they were having sex), and she's not exactly a punctual person to begin with. 

This Sunday morning is different anyways.  

This Sunday morning, she has a song in her heart and her heart in her throat, or something romantic and nerve-wracking like that. This morning, she’s in  love. 

Ymir makes her way through the crooked paths of campus until she finally hit the town’s main street. The sidewalks are already beginning to fill up with the after-church brunch-goers, so Ymir takes her time getting downtown. She takes the scenic route past the duck pond to avoid the crowd, gets temporarily distracted at the fresh donut shop on the corner, and finally ends up at Tom’s Diner near the old courthouse.  

She’s generally indifferent to the concept of brunch (it’s just late breakfast, and that’s how she always eats her breakfast), but Reiner thinks that he invented it or something, so he insists on a full spread every weekend at Tom’s. It’s an antique local establishment where most of the patrons were born in another world era, but Reiner is not fazed in the slightest.   Actually, the townies love him. He's particularly popular with the little old ladies who come in after church. So far he has neglected to tell them that he is a gay ex-Catholic, but they're well into their eighties, so there's not much point in rocking that boat.  

After two years of coming to brunch, Ymir is still dumbfounded about why elderly women love Reiner so much, considering that he: 

  1. probably came out of the womb fully grown
  2. usually shows up to brunch decked out in flaming neon colors and sporting a wicked hangover



Somehow, after all this time, brunch dress etiquette has eluded him. Usually Bertholdt can make up for that by dressing like a prepubescent model from a preppy back-to-school spread in a mall fashion catalog. He and Reiner are two very different examples of what twelve years of Catholic school will do to a person. 

And yet, they both turned out gay.  

Today, however, neither of them are at the top of their game. 

To Ymir's shock, it is Reiner peering out from under the hood of that tattered gray sweatshirt: face unshaven, eyes sunken in like he didn't sleep at all. Bertholdt looks only marginally better. He's wearing a tee-shirt (in public, God forbid his mother see) and a pair of paintball-stained track pants. 

"Fuck," Ymir exclaims as she slides into the booth. "What the hell happened to you guys?"  

She's not particularly dressed up either; in fact, she realizes now that she's still wearing last night's outfit. But flannel and jeans is standard for her on any day of the week, so honestly right now, she's the best-dressed at this table.  

"It was dollar shot night at the bowling alley," Bertholdt mutters. 

Ymir's eyebrows shoot up. "It was dollar shot night and you didn't fucking invite me?" 

Reiner takes a big gulp of coffee and swishes it around like mouthwash before swallowing. "You looked a little busy." 

"Anyways," Bertholdt says through a yawn, "you didn't miss much. Pieck showed up with that trumpet player, and by the time we escaped the tenth circle of hell-" 

Also known as Pieck's Peer Pressure Party.  

"-we were too drunk to even bowl, so we just..." 

He spaces out for a second before finishing that thought.  

"We just went home," he says. 

Ymir stares at them. "You guys should know better than to drink with Pieck." 

"I saw her this morning on our way here," Reiner says. He reaches for the coffee pot at the center of the table- it's already nearly empty- and refills his cup. "We walked here, because I think we're both still drunk, and she was out for a run by the pond. She waved at us from across the street." 

"Yeah, she's not fucking human," Ymir says. "Anyways, that's enough about your shitty night. Let's talk about my  amazing  night." 

The waitress swings by and takes their orders- "the usual, Debbie, except I'll vomit if I smell eggs, so just bring us a plate full of bacon and as much coffee as you're legally allowed to give us"- and then Ymir launches into a full retelling of how she met the love of her life. She knows that Reiner and Bertholdt watched it all happen from across the yard, but it's just too good to not relive it at every chance she gets. She's been reliving it ever since it happened, which, okay, was only, like, fourteen hours ago, but they've been the best fourteen hours of her life. Even though she was asleep for most of that time. Whatever.  

"So, you're really into her," Reiner says. He's had probably six cups of coffee since Ymir sat down, but he goes ahead and empties another pot into his mug, then drains the full mug directly into his mouth. 

"I'm way into her," Ymir says. "And she was totally into me too. You guys saw her lean in for that kiss, right?" 

"Sure did," Bertholdt mutters through a yawn.

"I think what I saw was her lean in for a kiss," Reiner says, "and you instantly combust internally, but yeah, I definitely saw something." 

"Good, so please begin checking your mailbox daily, because soon you'll be receiving a wedding invitation.  Ymir and Historia cordially invite you to the gayest wedding of all-" 

"Her name is Historia?" Bertholdt asks, furrowing his brow. 

Ymir stops and stares at him. "Wait, do you know her?"  

"No," Bertholdt says. He leans back in his seat and stifles another yawn. "I just- I mean, Historia? Is that even a real name?" 

"Your name is  Bertholdt," Ymir exclaims.  

"That's a real name!" 

"Your name is  Ymir," Reiner says as the waitress returns with a plate full of bacon and another coffee pot. "I don't think any of us really have room to talk." 

Ymir snatches the first piece of bacon off the plate. "Whatever. She's totally perfect and better than either of you, so I don't care what you think of her." 

Reiner refills his coffee cup again. "Although now that you say her name, it does sound kind of familiar. Maybe we've had a class together or something." 

"I don't think so," Ymir says, chewing. "She's a computer science major." 

"Oh, yeah, definitely not then." 

Bertholdt nibbles slowly on a slice of bacon, testing the will of his stomach. "It's a small school though," he says. "What's her last name?" 

Ymir pauses. "Uh..." 

"You didn't ask for her last name?" 

"Well, she didn't give it to me," Ymir exclaims. "Look, I wasn't cross-examining her, alright? We were just having a wonderful, romantic evening together."

Bertholdt finishes his bacon and grimaces at her. "Ymir, I think you got catfished in real life."

Ymir pauses, another piece of bacon halfway to her mouth. "Excuse me?"

“Historia is totally a fake name.” 

“No, it’s not,” she exclaims, slamming a fist down on the table. “Just because she didn’t tell me her full name doesn’t mean she’s a catfish!” 

Bertholdt shrugs. “Eh.” 

“I didn’t tell her my last name either!” 

“Okay,” Bertholdt says, “but your last name is so stupid that I’d be more worried if you did tell her.” 

Reiner nudges him in the arm. “Stop being a Debbie Downer,” he exclaims. “Maybe it is a fake name, but so what? They had a magical, romantic moment, and that has to count for something."

“Thank you,” Ymir exclaims. She snatches up another piece of bacon and funnels it directly into her mouth. “Your negative energy is not welcome at this table, Hoover. Historia is totally real and we’re totally in love.” 

“I just feel like you’re reading too much into this,” Bertholdt says, leaning back in the booth. “You only talked to her for ten minutes at a party.”

"Yeah, but she kissed me," Ymir says through a mouthful of bacon. "That's love, isn't it?" 

"Sure," Bertholdt says drily. "But it was still only ten minutes at a party. Is that really enough time for you to fall in love with someone?" 

Reiner glances sideways at him, setting his coffee cup down. "I fell in love with you within the first ten minutes." 

"And you showed it to me by kissing me once when we were twelve, never mentioning it again, losing your virginity to Derrick at my house after prom, and then sexiling me during our first week of college so you could fuck Porco Galliard in our dorm room," Bertholdt says. "I remember, thanks." 

"Okay, first of all, I would never sleep with anyone named Derrick. Also, there was that time in the locker room in tenth grade-" 

"I'm just saying," Bertholdt exclaims, putting a hand up to his temple. “You’re overreacting.”  

Ymir leans in across the table. "Did you see the way she kissed me?" 

"Yeah, but-" 

"Then I don't wanna hear it," she hisses. "We're in love and you can't stop us." 

Reiner raises his coffee cup. "Hell fucking yeah, love knows no bounds." 

"No fucking bounds!" Ymir exclaims, jamming another piece of bacon into her mouth.  

“So,” Reiner says, when he’s drained his coffee cup. “You’re gonna find her, right?” 

Ymir glances at him. “What?” 

He raises his eyebrows. “Ymir, you have to ask her out.” 

“I have to do _what_?” 

“This is your chance to make a grand romantic gesture,” Reiner exclaims, leaning forward excitedly. “You have to find her and profess your undying love and then take her on a date!” 

“I’m a lesbian,” Ymir squawks. “I can’t just ask a girl out!”  

Bertholdt rubs his forehead. “Okay, what even-” 

“You have to,” Reiner insists. “That kiss was magical, right?” 

Ymir thinks about it. Yeah, that was the most magical shit she’s ever felt in her life. 

“Then it’s meant to be,” he continues. “She’s your Cinderella. You have to track her down!”

Ymir leans back in her seat, thinking. "You know what? She did leave a beer bottle behind."

Reiner gasps. "That's her glass slipper!"

"That's exactly what I fucking said," Ymir exclaims. She throws a hand across the back of the booth and rests her chin against her fist. "Maybe she wanted me to use it to find her. That has to be a sign..."

Bertholdt slurps his coffee. "How are you going to find her with a beer bottle?"

"It had a lip gloss stain on it," Ymir says slowly. She sits upright again, brow furrowed as she leans forward in contemplation. "Yeah, if I can just, like, figure out the brand of lip gloss, then I can find the stores where it’s sold and stake them out so that when she comes back to buy another one-” 

“Or,” Reiner says, holding up a finger, “you could just find her on Facebook.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Ymir says. “I could just do that.”  

Bertholdt reaches to refill his coffee cup. "I don't think Cinderella left behind a glass slipper so the prince could stalk her on the internet and ask her out."

"No, you're right, he asked her to become a fucking queen," Ymir says, gnawing on a piece of bacon as she glares in Bertholdt’s direction. “But Historia is already a fucking queen, so it’s up to me to offer her true love and happiness forever, in my arms specifically.” 

Ymir tunes out of the brunch conversation after that. Reiner is right, for once. Last night was real. That kiss was real, and the beautiful girl she shared it with is out there somewhere, hopefully thinking the same thing.  

It takes her all of thirty seconds to find Historia on Facebook, confirming that she, too, is real. 

Without adding her, Ymir can only see the bare bones of Historia’s online life, but that’s enough for now. She’s even more beautiful in her profile picture than Ymir remembers her being; the way her gaze pierces through the screen haunts Ymir for the rest of the day. She finds herself returning to stare at the picture, even stopping halfway through a test run of possible recital pieces that Dr. Mikkelsen gave her last week.  

Is this creepy? 

Okay, it’s definitely creepy. 

But Ymir can’t help herself. There’s  something  about Historia. Maybe it's her piercing blue eyes, the brightest blue Ymir has ever seen. Maybe it’s the way she’s only half-smiling in this picture, like she’s holding something back. Maybe it’s Ymir’s desperate urge to send her a friend request and feel validation in this lovesick obsession.  

Still, she hesitates. She wants to unlock every secret of Historia’s life, and internet stalking is usually the first step down that path. But it’s a dangerous path to follow and Ymir is starting to think that Bertholdt is right. She's just some rando who plays the bassoon. She hopes that Historia felt the same connection, but she can't no that for sure and she's pretty sure it would kill her chances to just send creepy Facebook messages.  Even though that’s exactly what she wants to do.  

Then again, that’s how dating happens nowadays, isn’t it? And they have met in person, so it’s not like Ymir is a total stranger. She just can’t shake the feeling that Historia deserves better than that.  

Reiner’s right, again, somehow, twice in one conversation. Ymir needs to make a grand, romantic gesture to prove her love to Historia and win her heart for good.  

She puts herself on pause until she can think of something. She has another meeting with Dr. Mikkelsen on Monday, and he's going to expect some feedback on the potential recital pieces that he gave her, maybe even a demonstration. She's definitely not going to meet his standards, but it's her junior recital, which is, like, the one thing that determines her future in the music school, so she supposes she should at least pretend like she made an effort. 

Ymir pretends to make an effort until midnight, which, for her, honestly, is a significant effort. These pieces from Dr. Mikkelsen are  hard. It’s not music that she couldn’t possibly play, but she’d have to put her nose to the grindstone and practice nothing else for the next two months, and even then she knows she wouldn’t live up to his standards. Maybe if she didn't have other classes, but between symphony and woodwind and regular lessons, she barely has time as it is to devote to her recital. And those other classes actually weight into her GPA.  She only needs to do well enough to keep her scholarship, and then she’s golden. She’ll have to sell Dr. Mikkelsen on some easier pieces for her recital, or there’s no way she’ll actually be able to keep up with everything this semester. 

She falters through a short sight-reading during the meeting, and then immediately requests something not so fucking hard. 

"No," Dr. Mikkelsen says the moment she opens her mouth.

Ymir slumps in her seat. “But I can’t play any of these.”  

He stares at her over the rim of his round glasses, his gaze hard and dark. 

“This is the level of difficulty you should be striving towards this year,” he says. “Playing anything below this would be an insult to this music school.” 

Ymir stares back. “So… that’s, like, a hard no.” 

“You need to practice more,” Dr. Mikkelsen says. He holds up a folder of sheet music (he’s giving her  more, really?) and thrusts it at her. “None of these pieces are beneath you.”  

That’s… the most encouragement she’s ever gotten from him, although it’s not exactly encouraging at all. Ymir fumbles through a few more bars, then stumbles out of his office with twice as much sheet music as she walked in with, not to mention an absurd number of practice room hours booked for the next two weeks. She dumps the sheet music in her backpack, tugs her bassoon case over her shoulder, then whips out her phone  and texts Reiner as she starts across campus to meet him for coffee. 

**Text from Ymir**  
dr m wants me to practice 3 hrs a day, can you believe him 

**Text from Reiner**  
do you not do that already?

**Text from Ymir**  
no??? Thats insane 

**Text from Reiner**  
thats normal 

**Text from Ymir**  
what 

**Text from Reiner**  
i do 2 hours a day plus more on weekends 

**Text from Ymir**  
ok well ur an overachiever 

**Text from Reiner**  
im pretty sure thats what everyone does actually 

**Text from Ymir**  
why the fuck am i in music school then 

Whatever, she’s going to get a latte. 

It takes all of her strength not to pull up Facebook as she’s waiting in line at the coffee shop. She has symphony rehearsal this afternoon, and it’s the first real rehearsal with their concert pieces, so she needs to be focused. She needs to get some coffee, tell Reiner he’s a bitch, and then lock herself in Saber and practice because apparently she’s light years behind everyone else.   Then again, maybe she should check to make sure Historia hasn’t friended her first. Then it wouldn’t be weird for Ymir to reach out to her. Or maybe they’ve got some mutual friends, so Ymir can set up some kind of plan to get them to- 

No, she’s not going to do this. She’s made it, like, ten hours without stalking Historia, and if she can make it until the end of the day, then hopefully her feelings will have settled down and she’ll be able to make a rational decision about how to seduce Historia.  

She grabs the latte labeled  Emeer  (like, honestly, she’s been coming here for years now, and they have never once bothered to spell her name correctly, not even when she spells it out for them) and spins around.  

“Oh, hi,” Historia says. 

Ymir freezes.  

She’s just as beautiful as Ymir remembers, but in the daylight, she’s practically glowing. Like, she’s definitely having a casual Monday, because her hair is wrapped up in a bun and her gym shorts are barely visible beneath her oversized tee-shirt, but still, like  _damn_. No one has ever looked so good under fluorescent lighting.  

Ymir did not expect to see her again so soon. 

“Uh,” she says, staring at Historia. “Uh, hi. Hey.”  

Historia gestures at the latte in her hand. “I think they gave you a little too much there.” 

Ymir glances at the cup, which is, indeed, overflowing onto her hand (ow,  shit, how did she not fucking feel that), but only because she is squeezing the life out of it with a tense fist. 

“Oh, yeah,” Ymir exclaims, loosening her grip on the cup. She holds out her hand and lets the scalding coffee drip onto the floor. “Yeah, it’s fine though, you know, because at least I know it’s the right temperature.” 

“Well, here,” Historia says, grabbing a napkin from the counter. “Don’t burn yourself.” 

Ymir dabs pathetically at her hand. “Thanks.” 

Shit, fuck, she’s not ready yet. She expected to have more time to prepare something to say, something grand and romantic with live doves and a trail of rose petals, or some shit like that. How was she so cool around Historia on Saturday night? Oh, right, she was drunk. 

“So, uh, listen,” Ymir says, her brain suddenly scrambling for words.  

She shuffles sideways to let someone else pick up their coffee order, but Historia doesn’t move, just watches her from the same spot, as customers move through the channel between them to grab their drinks. 

“Uh, I, you know,” Ymir says. She shrugs. “I really liked talking to you at the party.” 

“That was fun,” Historia says. “I had a good time that night.” 

“Yeah, so,” Ymir says, drawing out her words. “Then, maybe we should, uh…” 

Someone reaches for a drink on the counter, and Historia steps in front of him. 

“I think that one’s mine,” she says.  

She picks it up (a plain black coffee, of course, because she’s the coolest person Ymir has ever met) and crosses towards Ymir.  

“Sorry,” Historia says, holding her cup up to her lips. “What were you saying?” 

She stares straight up at Ymir and they make direct contact. 

Oh, shit.  

Oh, fuck. 

“We should hang out,” Ymir blurts out. “And by hang out, I mean, like…” 

Historia lowers her cup.  

“Listen, Ymir,” she says. “I mean it when I say I had fun at that party. I’m glad I met you. But the thing is…” 

“Oh,” Ymir says. “The thing?” 

She’s taken. She’s married. Oh god, she’s straight. 

“I’m really busy right now,” Historia says. “You know how the beginning of the semester is.” 

Ymir blinks. “...right.” 

“I’ve got classes and family stuff, and recruitment’s coming up too, so I’m just not going to have any free time-” 

“Recruitment,” Ymir repeats, furrowing her brow. “What- like, the… military or something?” 

Historia smiles. “Ha, no, sorry. I meant, sorority recruitment.” 

Ymir stares at her. “What?” 

“You know,” Historia says. “Sorority rush.” 

Sorority rush. 

Sorority. 

_ Sorority?  _

There must be worse things than falling for a sorority girl. In the grand scheme of the world and all its tragedies, there are definitely worse things.  

In this moment, however, Ymir cannot imagine how that is possible. 

She knows about sorority girls. She’s seen them walking around campus, their Greek letters emblazoned on everything from sweaters to backpacks to water bottles, and literally everything in between too. She’s heard stories of their strict dress codes and antiquated notions of femininity, of hazing routines and other bizarre rituals. She knows the high prices they pay for their inclusion, like, literally the hundreds of dollars of dues they pay, just to wear matching tee shirts and date frat guys. 

Those girls, the type who definitely do not associate with people like Ymir. 

“We’re going to be really busy for the next couple of weeks,” Historia says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “and I just don’t know-” 

“I was actually thinking about joining a sorority,” Ymir exclaims .

Historia stares up at her, her mouth agape. She closes it, her brow furrowing slightly.

"Oh," she says. "Really?"

Ymir stares back. "...yeah."

There’s a long silence broken only by the barista barking order across the room, and then it occurs to Ymir that Historia is waiting for her to explain, because, like… what the fuck.

“It just, uh,” Ymir says, shrugging. “It just seems like a, uhhhh, fun… thing… to do.” 

“Oh, well, good for you,” Historia says, nodding. “It’s always nice to see upperclassmen get involved.” 

“Uh, yeah, totally.” 

“To break the stigma, you know.” 

“Of course.”

Historia glances at her phone. "Well, I have to go," she says, already stepping towards the door. “But it was nice to see you again, and good luck with recruitment, I guess!”

“Yeah, I, it was nice to- oh, she’s gone.” 

** Text from Ymir  **   
i hate myself

**Text from Reiner**  
mood

** Text from Ymir  **   
seriously where the fuck are u

**Text from Reiner**  
sorry the gym was crowded  
all these freshmen thinking theyre going to keep a routine  
get out of my way children pls

**Text from Ymir**  
u know i do dumb shit when im abandoned

**Text from Reiner**  
ok i didnt abandon you, im just late  
also what did you do

** Text from Ymir **    
well

**Text from Reiner**  
the barista didnt mean it  
you just have a weird name

**Text from Ymir**  
ok as much as i would like to i did not kill the barista  
i made a different but similarly terrible choice

** Text from Reiner **    
how many cop cars should i be expecting

**Text from Ymir**  
ok i ran into historia again   
sorry, *Historia  
she deserves it

**Text from Reiner**  
so shes real? 

**Text from Ymir**  
yes so tell berthodltlglflfllt to suck my dick  
but i did something that i think is a bad idea but maybe not

** Text from Reiner **    
did u actually ask her out?? omg ymir if i had known this day would come so soon

** Text from Ymir **    
no

**Text from Reiner**  
i would have baked u a cake or something  
wait you didnt?

**Text from Ymir**  
no of course not  
who do u think i am

**Text from Reiner**  
u said u were in love with her

**Text from Ymir**  
i cant just ask a girl out!! im a weak bitch!!

**Text from Reiner**  
i think if you tried really hard 

**Text from Ymir**  
i literally cant  
except i kind of did

**Text from Reiner**  
ok what the hell

**Text from Ymir**  
i just said we should hang out  
and she said she was busy with sorority stuff

**Text from Reiner**  
wait

**Text from Ymir**  
so shes just busy right like she wasnt actually turning me down  
right???

**Text from Reiner**  
shes in a sorority???  
???????????????  
?????????????????????????  
????

**Text from Ymir**  
stop that

**Text from Reiner**  
i totally know her  
shes a zeta

**Text from Ymir**  
a what

**Text from Reiner**  
she came to gamma formal last year  
she crushed a can of beer on her forehead and blew chad in the pantry

**Text from Ymir**  
i dont think this is the same person

**Text from Reiner**  
just to be clear im not slutshaming  
i was actually very impressed by her  
i want to be her friend  
will you introduce me???

**Text from Ymir**  
NO  
ur thinking of a different Historia

**Text from Reiner**  
i dont think theres more than one

**Text from Ymir**  
theres another ymir so who says there cant be another historia

**Text from Reiner**  
there is definitely not another ymir at this school

**Text from Ymir**  
well how do you know  
ANYWAYS I PANICKED and i told her that i was going to join a sorority too

**Text from Reiner**  
you what

**Text from Ymir**  
i just want her to like me

**Text from Reiner**  
oh my gosh

**Text from Ymir**  
that will make her think im cool right??

**Text from Reiner**  
ymir

**Text from Ymir**  
because sorority girls only hang out with each other  
so if im in a sorority then we can hang out

**Text from Reiner**  
ymir

**Text from Ymir**  
or at least if she thinks im in a sorority  
then shell like me and we can hang out and stuff  
right??  
say something

**Text from Reiner**  
so much just happened 

Reiner refuses to speak to her until he’s ordered his frozen caramel macchiato, sat down at their table, consumed half of his drink, given himself a brain freeze, and collapsed back in his seat, rubbing his forehead.

"Okay," he says finally, sitting upright. He sets his elbows on the table and gives Ymir a pointed look. "I've figured out what you have to do."

"I know what I have to do," Ymir says. " I have to pretend like I joined the best sorority on campus. Then she’ll see how rich and powerful I am, and she’ll be like,  _wow Ymir is a cool person I would be totally down to clown with_ -” 

"No," Reiner exclaims, slamming his hands down on the table. "Ymir, you have to actually join a sorority."

Ymir stares at him. “ _Excuse me?_ ” 

“Historia's not an idiot,” Reiner says. “And sorority girls are seriously well-connected. They all know each other, and she's going to know if you're legit or not. You have to join a sorority."

“Okay, first of all,” Ymir exclaims, holding up a finger. “That shit is dumb and I’m not doing it.” 

“Oh, come on, Greek life's not all bad."

“You’re, like, barely even in your fraternity," Ymir exclaims, throwing out her hand. "I don’t know why you’re defending them.”

"Excuse you," Reiner says, picking up his drink. "I'm very involved in Gamma. We're having a retreat this weekend where we'll be engaging in meaningful  activities of brotherhood and philanthropy.” 

“Ugh,” Ymir mutters. “We get it, you’re gay.”  

“Fine, what’s your second point?” 

“That shit is dumb,” Ymir says, “and I’m not  doing it.” 

“You just said that you want her to think you’re cool,” Reiner says. “So if you're trying to impress her, then actually, legitimately joining a sorority would do the trick! Once you've been judged worthy to join such an elitist institution, she'll have no reason to see you as anything but cool."

“That’s exactly what I want,” Ymir says, “except for the part where I legitimately join a sorority.” 

“Well, your other option is to just talk to her."

“How dare you,” Ymir says. “Also, I did  just talk to her, if you’ll recall, and she said she was busy with sorority stuff, so the only logical conclusion one can draw from that interaction-” 

“You know what that means, right?” 

“-is that I have to become sorority stuff,” Ymir finishes, “and then she can be busy with me instead.”

Reiner seems to chew on that for a moment, then he rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his drink. "Yea, okay, let's go with that interpretation. Then you're agreeing with me, actually, that the sorority way is the way to go?"

“I feel like I could just pretend,” Ymir says, narrowing her eyes. “Can’t I just pretend?” 

Reiner narrows his eyes back at her. “No, she’ll definitely know if you’re faking it. You have to at least go through recruitment.”  

“Ugh,” Ymir mutters, sinking her head down to the table. “Why is love so hard?”

"As an added bonus, you might make some new friends!"

Ymir lifts her head to glare at him. “I’m not trying to make friends. I’m trying to make Historia fall in love with me.” 

"Now that I think about it," Reiner says, "you should join her sorority. Then she'll know that you're definitely in her league. Although, Zeta Chi is top tier, so the chances of you actually getting a bid are, like, not great, given your personality and whatever..."

Ymir stares at him. "Are you trying to sell me on this or not?"

"It might work, though," Reiner says, stirring his drink. "You know what, I know some Zetas. Maybe I can ask them to put in a good word for you, so that when you go through recruitment, they'll be totally biased and ask you to join!"

Ymir rubs her eyes. "Do you seriously think that could work?"

"It's possible," Reiner says. He shrugs. "I mean, it's not  _im_ possible."

"Okay, but just to be clear," Ymir says, holding up a hand, "i 'm not actually _joining_ a sorority."

"...I just said-"

"No, I just mean, I'm not gonna sell my soul or whatever," Ymir exclaims. "This is a means to an end."

That end, obviously, being in Historia's pants. 

"Sure," Reiner says. "And if you make some friends along the way-"

"I'm not making friends!"

"But you should sign up for recruitment soon," Reiner says, glancing down at his phone. "If you're actually doing this, I mean. Have you signed up yet?"

“We just made this plan, like, five seconds ago! No, I haven’t signed up yet!” 

“Okay, well, you should, because I think registration closes soon…” 

It's not the worst idea, right? Join Historia's sorority, get close to her, woo her, seduce her, ride off into the sunset with her? 

There are definitely worse ideas. Ymir has had worse ideas in the forty-eight hours since she met Historia. At least she's not stalking Historia's IP address and finding out where she lives and randomly showing up at her house to smell her pillowcases. 

That's the fucking craziest thought Ymir has ever had, so that makes this idea at least a little less crazy. 

Right?

It's not the worst idea, Ymir tells herself when she gets home that night. Actually, considering the amount of time sorority girls spend together, it's a pretty great idea. It's actually an amazing idea. 

** INBOX | 4 unread **

**Rho Gamma Placement**  
Hey Ymir, I'm your Rho Gamma leader and... 

**Greek Life Newsletter**  
You have been automatically subscribed... 

**Welcome to Formal Recruitment!**  
Welcome, Ymir! Thank you for signing up... 

**Thank you for signing up for fo…**  
This is an auto-generated response. Please…

Oh, sweet god. It better be a good idea.


	3. driving me crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously on soul sisters: ymir decided to rush historia's sorority. this week: she breaks her face from fake smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my alma mater just had recruitment this weekend, and all the memories (good, bad, ugly) came back to me. it's an unnecessarily complicated process, so i tried to make it as simple as possible while still accurate. whatever, it's not like ymir has any idea what's going on.

**Text from Reiner**  
i told dr. p that you have the bird flu and couldn't come today  
she said hmm that's weird i saw ymir yesterday  
but the bird flu hits fast  
you know?

**Text from Bertholdt**  
ymir are you really skipping music history to meet your sorority guidance counselor?

**Text from Reiner**  
it's called a rho gamma and it's very important

**Text from Bertholdt**  
i don't know if it's that important

**Text from Reiner**  
ymirs rho gamma holds her fate in her hands   
its VERY IMPORTANT

**Text from Bertholdt**  
class also seems important

**Text from Reiner**  
its just music history bud

**Text from Bertholdt**  
ymir when you fail the first test, please know that i told you so

**Text from Reiner**  
there are tests in this class???

**Text from Bertholdt**  
yes

**Text from Reiner**  
how do u know that

**Text from Bertholdt**  
i read the syllabus 

**Text from Reiner**  
you know i only read nutrition labels

**Text from Ymir**  
can you guys fucking stop  
arent you sitting right next to each other in class??

**Text from Reiner**  
bert refuses to pass notes so we have to text instead

**Bertholdt has left the group chat.**

**Text from Reiner**  
i dont know why he thinks that will work  
im just going to add him again

**Text from Ymir**  
hes going to block ur number

**Text from Reiner**  
he wouldnt dare  
anyways good luck in ur meeting

**Text from Ymir**  
i dont need luck  
i have love on my side

She really doesn't need luck. What she needs is a lot of caffeine, a good sob story, and a white dress. 

Sorority recruitment begins on the upcoming Thursday, but Ymir finds herself at a strategy meeting the week before. The auditorium is a madhouse when she walks in, full of bubbly girls (freshmen) who can't wait to find their sorority. She is sectioned off into one of thirty groups and introduced to her extremely vivacious recruitment counselor, who, for some reason, insists on being called a Rho Gamma. Unsurprisingly, Ymir is the only junior in her group; she's also the only one who does not display overt signs of overexcitement when the name tags are handed out and the icebreaker games begin. 

It's like the first week of college all over again, except she definitely doesn't care about anyone's names and she's not actually sure what the hell is going on. 

"I'm so excited to finally meet everyone," the recruitment counselor (Kelsey? Kelsie? Celseah?) gushes as the name tags go around the circle. "Are you guys excited? Who's excited?"

Her group has claimed one small corner of the auditorium currently filled with sorority hopefuls, and the squeal that her fellow group members make to show their excitement barely even registers against the combined squeals of the other girls in the room. Kelsie waits as they fix their name tags, then collects the pens and passes out a stack of binders. 

"So, these are your recruitment guides," she explains. "There's a lot of super helpful information in here that will get you through the weekend, so it's a really good resource to have on hand!"

The binders reach Ymir, and she takes one. She needs a binder, really? Like, what is there to possibly know other than act superficial and dress like a- oh sweet god, there's a lot of shit in here. 

"So, we've got the general recruitment guidelines," Kelsie says as she goes through each document clipped inside the binder. "Then we've got the recruitment schedules, so you know where you have to be everyday and what you'll be doing inside the houses. Then we've got a little bit of information about each of the sororities, just things like their philanthropy and their founding dates and their values and symbols, things like that. And then at the back we have the dress code guide, and ladies, this is really just an example, okay, the most important thing is that you dress professionally and respectfully, so a good rule of thumb is always, if you wouldn't wear it to church, you shouldn't wear it to recruitment." 

There's more in the binders, some shit about inter-sorority rules and some shit about national sorority rules, and basically just, like, a lot more rules, but Ymir tunes out for that portion of the explanation, because she's a little perturbed at Reiner for underselling how hard this would be. There's a lot of fucking rules. 

"So, that's everything that's in your binder," Kelsie is saying when Ymir tunes back in. "Does anyone have any questions before we move on?"

"Yeah, hi," Ymir says, sticking her hand up. 

"Sure thing, Ymir! What's your question?"

"Uh, right, so, for those of us who don't actually know anything about sororities and are just now realizing it, can you, like, go over the part where you explain what all of this is?"

"Oh, sure," Kelsie exclaims. "So, I know that some of you are legacies or maybe did a little research about the whole recruitment process, but it can be pretty complicated, so let's go over it together."

Ymir is having flashbacks to kindergarten. 

"So, there are three days of recruitment," Kelsie says, helpfully holding up a binder that's opened to the schedule page. "The first day is all about getting to know the different houses. We have four sororities on this campus, so you'll get to visit each of them and learn a little bit more about them. Each round is only about half an hour, which might sound like a long time, but it goes by really fast." 

She begins thumbing through the binder as she talks.

"After the first day," she says, "you'll get to vote on which houses you want to go back to. You rank them from highest to lowest, and then you'll find out the next day if you've been invited back."

Kelsie pauses and set the binder down to look out at the circle. 

"It's important to remember that voting is a two-way system," she says seriously. "You're voting on the houses, but they're also voting on you. Where you get invited back is based on that mutual selection process, so it's important to keep an open mind about all of the houses."

She picks up the binder again and opens to the page about the different houses. Ymir's shooting for the fucking moon and getting into Zeta Chi, obviously, so she hadn't even bothered to look at that page. 

"So, the second day," Kelsie exclaims, "is all about philanthropy. On this day, you'll get to go back to the houses that invited you and spend some more time with them, learning all about their philanthropy cause and all the sorts of fundraising events that they do on campus. Usually, you'll do some kind of activity too, and then you'll move on to your next house, if you're going to more than one."

"Wait, how long is the philanthropy thing?" Ymir asks.

"So, it's about forty-five minutes, but I promise it goes by really fast."

"But, like..." Ymir trails off, gesturing at the binder.

Kelsie smiles at her. "Yeah, Ymir?"

"Like, that's it?" Ymir asks. "You talk to them for, like, an hour and they just pick you like that?"

"So, I know it seems like not a lot of time," Kelsie says, setting the binder down. "Which is why it's important to look at the talking points sheet in your binder. They're probably going to ask you questions about what you're involved with on campus and what you’re looking for in a sorority, but it's always great to be prepared to sell yourself a little."

She smiles at all of them. "Now, the third day is called preferences. It's the longest round, and I can't tell you much about it, because it's a little different at every house. It's the day that the sisters let you in on a little bit of their ritual, and it can be very emotional for some girls."

Ymir stops listening after that. The freshmen girls in her group are  _enthralled_ by Kelsie's insider advice, but Ymir takes a silent moment to swear at Reiner in her mind. She knew sorority girls were really into their shit; like, she sees them all over campus, wearing matching outfits and throwing gang signs or whatever, but this is serious. The dress code might just be a "guideline," but it contains pretty specific instructions, like the white dress that she  _must absolutely wear on bid day_. Okay, geez. 

Not to mention, there's all sorts of tips about how to act at each house. Don't ask about partying, don't lie about herself, don't refuse any food or drink, don't look bored...

Okay, well, Ymir can manage most of those things. Lying about herself might be difficult to avoid, since that's, like, the only way she could even get into a sorority. But bending a few truths is her only ticket to Historia, so she's not going to let that hold her back. 

The hardest part, actually, is going to be the lies she tells. 

A guide at the back of the binder offers some sample questions that she might be asked during a round of recruitment. What is she looking for in sorority life? Why did she decide to go through recruitment? What kind of opportunities does she hope to have as a member of Greek life?

So far, her answers are: Historia, for Historia, and the opportunity to bed/wed Historia. 

Maybe she can steal some better answer from the girls in her Rho Gamma group.

Ymir turns to the girl on her left and squints at her name tag.

"So, _Paisley_ ," she says. "Why are you rushing or whatever?"

Paisley shrugs. "My mom wanted me to."

Ymir stares at her. "...great."

She turns to the girl on her left.

"So, Lauren," she asks, "why are you going through recruitment?"

"My sister's a Gamma Gamma Gamma," Lauren says instantly. "I have to get into Zeta Chi so I can show her that I'm better than her."

"Cool," Ymir says. "So, Zeta Chi is, like, a good sorority?"

Lauren does not refrain from rolling her eyes. "They're  _top tier_."

Ymir gives her a blank look. "Okay, well, I don't know what that means, so thanks for nothing, Lauren."

Fine, she can come up with some good answers on her own. 

She'll work on that while she's wading through an ever-growing number of potential recital pieces, practicing for symphony because for some reason there's an actually significant bassoon part in their upcoming concert pieces, and studying for music history, which she skipped to come to this meeting, oh and also practicing for her weekly lessons and practicing for wind quartet and then just practicing some more, because, like, that's all she does now, apparently. 

To her credit, Ymir does put in a fair amount of practice in the days leading up to recruitment, if only because Dr. Mikkelsen wants her to finalize her recital pieces by the end of the month, and that's coming up much sooner than she anticipated. She actually has fleeting moments throughout the week where she forgets about sorority recruitment (until an email shows up in her inbox screaming at her to GET EXCITED LADIES JUST 3 DAYS LEFT!!!!!!!!!!), although she still never manages to put Historia out of her mind.

Ymir sees Historia everywhere now.

And while she's certain that Historia herself is real, she hasn't figured out if these sightings are just messages from her subconscious, or if she has been running around Historia these past few years and just never noticed her on campus before. 

Maybe it's just now that she's catching Ymir's eye, or maybe their lives circle closer than she thought. Maybe she's not actually seeing Historia at all, and that girl sitting in the cafeteria or lounging in the quad or crossing the street to go downtown, maybe that's not actually Historia and Ymir is merely projecting onto another tiny blonde thing. 

She manages to exist in nearly every facet of Ymir's waking life now, and most of her sleeping life too. It'll be just a few more days before they're in the same sorority, and then maybe, finally, Historia will have a reason to look at her again. 

Just a few more days. 

And then suddenly, recruitment arrives. 

Ymir has never been to sorority row before, and it takes her longer than she’d like to admit to find it. She wanders to the east end of campus, vaguely following the scent of money. Then she spots a cluster of freshmen in pastel dresses walking somewhere in a hurry, and she follows them around the corner.  Four brick houses line the block, each adorned with shining gold letters over the front door, loudly announcing the sorority enclosed within. The buildings loom over her as she navigates her way through a sidewalk full of nervous freshmen trying to find her recruitment group.

“Oh, thank God,” a voice exclaims breathlessly, and Ymir is whipped out of the crowd. 

She comes face to face with Kelsie, who pulls her towards the cluster of counselees that she has gathered on the sidewalk.

“I thought we’d lost you!” Kelsie exclaims. “Don’t scare me like that, Ymir!”

“It’s not a fucking war-“

“So, here’s your name tag,” she says. “And I’ll take your phone now and then we’ve only got a few minutes until we line up for the first house, so get excited!”

Ymir glances up from the name tag, which, yes, is a glittery piece of card stock cut into the shape of a mason jar, affixed with floral appliqués, and then printed with Ymir’s name in swirly cursive. 

“My phone?” she repeats.

“So, yeah, we can’t let you take your phone in the house, but don’t worry, it’ll be safe with me!”

“Of course,” Ymir says. She dumps her phone into the tote bag that Kelsie offers, and it drowns in a sea of perfectly identical phones. “How silly of me.”

Ymir stands adrift in a sea of pastels as Kelsie gathers the last few girls in the group. She hadn’t meant to stand out quite this much, because she’s supposed to be, like, blending in and shit. But black is a timeless color, so there can’t be anything wrong with wearing it head to toe, right? She looks classy as fuck.  Also, most of her wardrobe is black, so she wasn’t working with a lot of options. 

Kelsie bounces back to the group, throwing the last few stragglers into the huddle and whipping their name tags at them like lightning.

“So, ladies,” she exclaims, heaving her bag full of phones over her shoulder. “Who’s excited for the first day of recruitment?”

The girls cheer. 

“Ymir, are you excited?"

“I’m saving my enthusiasm for when we get inside,” Ymir says. 

“Alright, good thinking!” 

She already hates this. 

“So, as you all know,” Kelsie says, gesturing the group to follow her. “You’ll be visiting all four houses today. This is your chance to make a great first impression! You’ll be in there for thirty minutes, but the time goes by so fast, so make sure you show them your best self!” 

Their shoes click against the sidewalk as they approach the first house, and immediately a collection of recruitment counselors begin shuffling them around, mixing different groups together until they’re standing in the correct order (whatever they may be), and then they wait.

Ymir glances up from her place near the front of the line and finds two golden letters bearing down her: ZX.

Wait. She’s not ready.

“Listen up, ladies,” a recruitment counselors shouts over the tittering freshmen. “Your first house is Zeta Chi! Don’t be nervous! The best advice I can give is to just be yourself!”

Be yourself, Ymir thinks, and for a moment, she remembers the night at the bonfire. 

Then the front door swings open, and a chorus of voices sounds:

“Welcome to Zeta Chi!” 

The line swiftly shuffles into the house, each girl stepping into the unknown. Soon it’s Ymir’s turn, and she steps over the threshold, trying to remember what the hell is supposed to happen inside. She is accosted at the door by a beaming girl who takes her tightly by the elbow. 

“Hi, Ymir,” the girl exclaims without glancing down at her name tag. “I’m Janelle!”

“Oh, thanks,” Ymir says, slightly bewildered. 

She is led down the hallway at a breakneck pace, Janelle’s grip firm on her arm. She tries to get a look around the house, but a whoosh of pastel colors distracts her as she is led into a brightly lit room.  The walls are draped floor to ceiling in fluttery white gauze, with twinkling fairy lights tucking tightly into the netting to cast a warm glow over the room. Cocktail tables line the floor, each covered in a baby blue tablecloth. The room begins to flood with sisters and the nervous girls on their arms, and Ymir is guided to a back table, where Janelle produces a glass of lemonade out of thin air and hands it to her.

“Wow,” Ymir says. 

What the hell is going on.

“So, Ymir,” Janelle says, smiling. She’s dressed the same as the rest of the sisters who float around the room: a blue shirt with the ZX letters, tucked into a white denim skirt and some honestly ridiculous wedges. “That’s a really pretty name! What does it mean?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Ymir says. “I think my mom made it up.”

Janelle laughs. “Ha! Well, either way, it’s unique. I like it.”

“Thanks,” Ymir says. 

She tries not to chug her lemonade, but this conversation is so contrived (and giving her serious flashbacks to her first conversation with Historia-  _oh god_ , what if she was just practicing recruitment tricks on Ymir?), and she's not sure what to make of it. Reiner gave her some talking points, but he's an idiot, so she tries to stick to Kelsie's advice: treat it like a job interview. 

Except instead of asking about her professional qualifications, she’s about to be grilled on her values, academics, and community service. She has made up answers to most of those questions.

“So,” Janelle asks, “what year are you?”

“I’m a junior.”

“Oh, neat,” Janelle exclaims. “Have you been through recruitment before?”

Ymir shakes her head, setting her glass down. “No, this is my first time.”

“I joined Zeta as a sophomore,” Janelle says. “I know it can be kind of weird to be the oldest one in the group, but for me, having a little college experience before joining a sorority made my Zeta experience all the better.”

She keeps smiling. “And leadership on campus is really important to us, so there are a lot of benefits to being established on campus before committing to a Greek organization.”

“Oh, totally,” Ymir says, internally wincing at her own voice. 

She sounds fake as hell. Her chances of getting a bid are lower as a junior, so she's got to prove herself as someone worth taking a chance on. That means not only being super enthusiastic and bubbly, but also painting herself as a leader on campus who is looking for new opportunities. At least those were Reiner's words. What the fuck does he know? Why did she listen to anything he said? 

“So, what made you decide to go through recruitment now?” Janelle asks. 

It’s the big question, the one that’s been preparing for. 

“Well,” Ymir says, then takes a deep breath. 

“I’m a music student,” she says, “and as first-chair of the bassoon section, music has pretty much absorbed my life during college. I’m looking to get involved in other areas on campus.”

She puts on her best fake smile. “And I really admire the values that Zeta Chi embodies. I think it would be amazing to be part of this sisterhood.”

It’s not technically a lie that she is first-chair bassoon; it’s just, like, she’s the only bassoon, so that’s a meaningless title that comes with no added responsibilities. But Janellle doesn’t need to know that. 

“That’s so cool,” Janelle says, beaming. “I’m not involved in anything as intense as the music school, but I felt something similar when I decided to go through recruitment. I felt like I hadn’t found my place at college, you know?”

Sure, yeah, whatever.

“When I went through recruitment,” Janelle continues, “Zeta became my home away from home. This sisterhood really changed my life.”

That’s a little on the nose, Ymir thinks, but before she can emote a gushing response, the lights dim across the room. She furrows her brow, trying to remember if Kelsie warned her about a blackout blood oath ceremony, but Janelle gestures for her to face the front of the room, where an elegantly beautiful Zeta Chi sister is standing before a large television screen, the remote clasped in her perfectly manicured hands. The room falls silent.

“Hi, ladies,” she exclaims, her voice booming across the room. “And welcome to Zeta Chi! We’re so glad to have you here.” 

A polite round of applause travels through the room, interjected with a few whoops from the Zeta sisters. 

“Thank you, ladies,” the girl says, her hair bouncing as she talks. “I’m the president of the Alpha Alpha chapter, and I’m so excited to have you all here today, learning about our sisterhood. Before we get back to chatting, we’d like to take a moment to show you what makes Zeta Chi so special.” 

She presses play on the remote, then steps to the side as a video begins. 

The video opens with the rhythm of a bright pop song as the camera pans across a familiar shot of the university quad. The frame latches onto three girls in white dresses, who walk in slow motion as they laugh and smile together, their hair bouncing with their steps. The music picks up as the scene changes, from one moment to the next, in increasing succession, from bonfires to football games to study sessions in the library. The video flashes between different Zeta sisters, each one smiling wider than the last, each of them decked out in their signature white and baby blue. 

The rest of the video is the same. Zetas are sisters, obviously, and you know can tell they’re constantly laughing and hugging each other in various places across campus.

Ymir glances around. Is anyone else amused by how ironically gay this is? No? Just her? Okay. 

When the video finally comes to an end, the bubbly music fades out and the lights rise across the room. The president steps back up to the TV, smiling out at the crowd.

“That was just a little sneak peak into what it’s like to be a Zeta,” she explains. “Thanks for watching, ladies, and now I’ll let y’all get back to your chats!”

Ymir turns back to Janelle.

“Wow,” she says. “That was something.”

Janelle beams. “I know, right?”

Before she can say anything else, someone short and blonde suddenly appears at her shoulder and- fuck, shit, it’s Historia, in the flesh, right in front of her, god, she’s not ready for this.

"Hey, Janelle," Historia says, her voice bright and chipper. She has a friendly hand on Janelle's arm, and she smiles widely. "I see you've met my friend, Ymir."

_** F R I E N D. ** _

“Oh, you two know each other?” Janelle exclaims, glancing between them.

“We just met a few weeks ago,” Historia says, then turns and smiles at Ymir with the brilliance of a thousand suns. God, she can barely fucking breathe right now. “But I’m looking forward to getting to know her better.”

She's here, she's real, and she's smiling at Ymir. 

“Well, I’ll leave you to talk, then,” Janelle says. “It was so nice to meet you, Ymir.”

“You too,” Ymir says dumbly. 

Janelle gives them a wave, then disappears into a sea of baby blue tee shirts. 

It's just them now, alone in this crowded room. Ymir has felt this way before, when she was talking to Historia at the party, barely aware of anything else happening around her, but the isolation feels so much stronger now. There is nothing for them to do but talk until the time runs out, and as much as Ymir was hoping to see Historia today, she has to admit that she's not nearly as prepared as she'd like to be. 

“I thought I might see you here,” Historia says, smiling. “Having a good time so far?”

“Oh, well,” Ymir says. “This is my first house, so-”

“Right, of course,” Historia says. “There’s a whirlwind going on behind the scenes, so sometimes it’s hard to remember where we are.”

She cocks her head. "You know, I really wouldn't have pegged you as the sorority type."

"I could say the same for you," Ymir says.

She's actually thinking:  _how would you have pegged me?_

"Really?" Historia  exclaims, raising her eyebrows. Her hair falls over her shoulder in slick, straight locks, and she raises a hand to brush it back. “That’s not what people usually say.”

“You stand out to me,” Ymir says. “You don’t seem like the kind of person who’d want to blend in here.”

Her stomach knots as soon as she says it. What a stupid thing to say when she’s doing the exact same thing.

Historia smiles. “Well, when we met, I guess that was a bit of an unusual night for me.”

Ymir smiles back. Inside, her blood is rushing. 

What does that mean? Is she straight? Is that what she’s trying to say? If that’s what she’s saying, then Ymir is going to have a heart attack right here and melt through the floor and have to crawl back to Reiner and Bertholdt and beg them to kill her because this plan was stupid from the start, because honestly who does something like this?

“Kissing a stranger, I mean,” Historia says. “I’m usually more reserved than that.”

Ymir drowns in wave of relief. “Oh, yeah, well, you gotta live a little while you’re in college, you know.”

“Well,” Historia says, glancing over her shoulder. “We’re not really supposed to talk about parties or anything like that. I’m supposed to be getting to know you.”

“You know me,” Ymir says, although they’ve talked literally twice for maybe a combined thirty minute over the last two weeks.

“Sure,” Historia says, smiling. “But I’d still like to know what made you sign up for recruitment.”

She has an answer for this. She just gave it to Janelle, didn’t she? She knows what she should say.

“Well,” Ymir says, then hesitates. “So…”

She falters.

Historia is watching her, head cocked to one side as she waits for Ymir to answer her question. It’s the same question that every girl around the room is gushing about right now, listing the dozens of meaningful reasons that they’re dying to get into a sorority. Ymir realizes now, as she catches glimpses of other conversations, that every other girl in this room really wants this. They’re looking for a home, a place to be themselves, a chance to fit in and be someone. Ymir is just- well, she’s just Ymir. 

If she really wants to do this, she’s got to outsell everyone else in this room.

She takes a deep breath.

“I feel like I haven’t found my home at college,” she starts. “I’ve been involved with the music school and I’ve made a lot of great friends there, but I haven’t found that special place where I can be surrounded by people who support me unconditionally. 

“When I see sororities on campus, I look at them and just, like, wish that I could be a part of something like that: to have that bond and make those lifelong connections. So that’s what I’m looking for, really, when it comes down to it. Just a place to call home.” 

She feels winded when she finishes ranting on her grade A bullshit.

Historia blinks up at her. “Well, I’m really glad for you, Ymir,” she says. “It sounds like you really know what you’re looking for here.”

She glances down as she talks, running a hand through her hair.

“When I was a freshman,” Historia says, “I felt similar to the way you do. I’d spent a long time wishing I belonged somewhere, and even though I made friends in my first few weeks of college, I still felt like something was missing from my life.

“And my sister, actually,” she continues, then stops.

She hesitates for a moment before smiling and carrying on.

“My older sister was a Zeta here,” Historia says, “and I knew that she’d always felt such a deep connection to this chapter, so I decided to go through recruitment too. I don’t think she ever imagined that I would end up as her sister in Zeta Chi too, but this is where I felt at home. And Zeta has been there for me ever since.”

She glance back to Ymir and smiles, and there are so many things Ymir wants to say, but she barely opens her mouth before another girl appears by Historia's side. 

“Hey, Historia,” she exclaims.

“Oh, hi, Siobhan,” Historia says, then gestures to Ymir. “I was telling Ymir about why I joined Zeta Chi.”

“Awesome,” Siobhan exclaims. “Nice to meet you, Ymir.”

Ymir shakes the firm hand that is thrust her way, vaguely aware that this is the girl who banged Marcel Galliard. “You too.”

Historia turns back to Ymir, smiling. “It was really nice to see you again,” she says. “Good luck with the rest of the day!”

Ymir’s heart drops. She knows that this is how recruitment works, the girls come one by one to make their judgment, but that felt like no time at all, and she’s got so much more to lay on Historia. 

“You too,” Ymir exclaims. 

Historia gives her a wave, then slips away, vanishing into the crowd of blue-shirted girls who float through the room. 

Siobhan is easy enough to talk to, but by this point, Ymir is beginning to realize the weariness of recruitment that advised her about. She’s required to go to every house, even if she’s not interested in joining, and she has three houses left after this. By the end of the day, she’s going to have repeated this sob story a hundred times, and then there’s a long night of waiting to find out if she was even invited back to Zeta Chi for the next round tomorrow. There’s a chance that she could be cut from the process entirely, but as long as she’s back on Zeta’s doorstep tomorrow morning, then she still has a chance.

The round at Zeta Chi ends with Siobhan leading Ymir back out the front door, one hand firm between her shoulder blades, well-wishes shouted from beyond the threshold as Ymir steps into the sunlight, squinting and hissing. 

The world feels different about leaving the Zeta house, but there’s no time to think about it as she’s whisked away her recruitment counselor and paraded down the street to the next house.

“So, ladies,” Kelsie exclaims as the girls follow her down the sidewalk. “Your next house is Beta Alpha Epsilon! Who’s excited?!”

By the time Ymir stumbles back to her dorm room that night, she can’t feel her lips. She explained fifteen times why she decided to go through recruitment, as if that was the most interesting question anyone could possible ask. She also spent a lot of time talking about the music school, probably only because music students never go outside their social bubble and are believed by the rest of campus to not actually exist. 

But mostly, there was a lot of fake smiling and pretending to remember everyone’s names. She’s pretty sure she’s going back to Zeta Chi tomorrow, but there’s, like, no way in hell any of those other houses will invite her back. She doesn’t even remember what sororities they were. 

She doesn’t have to remember, apparently, because Reiner is going to do it her for her.

“What’d you think about Iota Xi?”

He’s upside down on her bed- because for some reason, he thinks he’s allowed to sit there- stretching his calves over his head after his evening gym routine, which was, of course, preceded by an afternoon and a morning routine. Ymir’s dorm happens to be adjacent to the fitness center, and somehow that has led Reiner to believe that he can invite himself over to her room and do his stretches there. 

“Huh?” Ymir mumbles. 

“Iota Xi,” Reiner exclaims. “You went to their house today!”

“I went to a lot of houses today,” Ymir says from her desk. She’s trying to stare blankly at the wall and completely black out her thoughts while she waits for notification about whether Zeta Chi invited her back, but Reiner keeps interrupting. “Sorry, did I invite you over? I don’t remember doing that.”

“I came to hear all the sorority gossip,” Reiner says. “So, how was Iota Xi?”

She thinks. That was the yellow one, she thinks. 

“Alright,” she says. She shoves another handful of popcorn into her mouth. “I’m definitely not going back there.”

“You can’t be sure that they won’t invite you back.”

“I’m pretty sure,” Ymir scoffs. “I barely listened to anything they said.”

She swivels around in her desk chair to face Reiner, whose head is hanging over the edge of the bed as he contorts one leg across his stomach in a stretch that cannot be comfortable or even healthy.

“Fine,” Reiner says, glancing at her upside-down. “Then how was Zeta Chi?”

“It was fucking great,” Ymir says. She digs her hand into her popcorn bowl. “I should be an actor, because I said some great shit and they ate it right out of my hand.”

“Maybe you do have a chance, after all,” Reiner says. He pulls himself upright and swings around to face Ymir. “I was kind of doubting you, but-“

“I know how to schmooze,” Ymir scoffs. “How do you think I’ve stayed in the music school this long?”

“Because it’s nice to have at least one bassoon?”

“I’m getting invited back to Zeta,” Ymir says. “I can feel it.”

Reiner says nothing.

Ymir slams the popcorn bowl onto her desk. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says, shrugging. He adjusts his sweatband. “I just feel like you should be keeping your options open.”

“Oh, come on,” Ymir says. She pops another piece of popcorn into her mouth. “I hit it off with Historia again, not to mention those other girls, Siobhan and whoever.”

“Just because you had a good conversation doesn’t mean you’re getting in,” Reiner says. “They rank you based on more than how easy you were to talk to.”

“You’re the one who gave me all those dumb talking points!”

“I gave you talking points about, like, academics and community service. These girls take this shit really seriously. I don’t know about Zeta specifically, but most chapters hold their members to high standards. If your GPA isn’t good enough, you’re out.”

“My GPA is fine,” Ymir mutters.

It’s fine to her standards, although she’s not quite sure what Zeta’s standards are. Their GPA requirement can’t be that high, but then again, Historia is a computer science major, so, like, that’s pretty fucking smart.  Not to mention, academics and community service never really came up in any of her conversations at the Zeta house. Should she have brought it up? Fuck.

“I just don’t want you to feel let down,” Reiner says. “If they cut you.”

“Of course, I’ll be let down,” Ymir exclaims. “The only reason I’m doing any of this is to get into Zeta! You expect me to be happy that I’ve wasted my time?”

“I think you should consider going forward with recruitment anyways,” Reiner says, “even if Zeta does cut you.”

“What?”

“You just need to get into a sorority, remember?” Reiner asks. “I don’t think it has to be hers.”

“I have it on good authority that Zeta is, like, top tier,” Ymir says, and by good authority, she means some fuck named Lauren in her Rho Gamma group. “How can I be good enough for Historia if I’m in, like, a middle tier sorority?”

“Well, you might have fun,” Reiner says.

Ymir narrows her eyes and stuffs herself with popcorn. This sounds a lot like a scheme to get her to make new friends. Reiner has tried this before. 

“I get it,” Ymir says. “You think I don’t play well with other girls and you’re trying to make friends for me.”

“Actually,” Reiner says, giving her a big wink. “You play very well with other girls.”

Ha. Okay, he’ll get a laugh for that one.

“I’m just encouraging you to take full advantage of this opportunity,” Reiner continues. “And if any of these chapters, whether or not it’s Zeta Chi, is willing to take a chance on your rude self, then you should be willing to do the same for them.”

Reiner levels her with a stare, and Ymir realizes that she has just been cornered into a serious conversation.

“Greek life is not what you think it is, Ymir,” he says, and he’s using her name now, so it’s definitely serious.  “I know what it looks like from the outside, but joining Gamma was one of the best things I ever did for myself.”

If Ymir were a lesser person, she would make a brainwashing joke.

Alas, she is a lesser person, but Reiner’s brainwashing started young with Catholic school, so there’s not much hope for him now.

“Please, let’s not rehash your sob story, I get it.”

“Really? Because it’s a pretty good sob story.”

“I know, you asshole, I’ve heard it a hundred times-“

“I won’t bring it up again,” Reiner says, sliding off the bed and digging his hand into the popcorn bowl before Ymir can stop him. “I just want you to-“

“You’ve contaminated my dinner with your dude germs.”

“Just think about it, okay? Just keep an open mind, no matter who invites you back.”

Ymir rolls her eyes just as her phone rings. She whirls around in her chair, sending popcorn flying across the room, and scrambles to answer the call.

“God,” Reiner exclaims, shielding himself from the blast. 

“I’m telling Karina that you used the Lord’s name in vain,” Ymir yells, then takes a deep breath and answers the phone. 

“Hello?” she says politely, demurely, like she didn’t just have a fucking panic attack at the sound of her ringtone. 

“Hi, Ymir!” booms Kelsie’s voice on the other end. “I’m just calling to let you know that I have your schedule for tomorrow’s recruitment events!”

Her heart pounds. Holy shit, she’s been invited back.

“You’re going back to three houses tomorrow,” Kelsie says. “You’ve been invited back to Iota Xi, Beta Alpha Epsilon, and-”

Ymir holds her breath.

“-Zeta Chi!”

“Fuck yeah!” she cries, throwing a fist into the air.

Things are finally coming up gay. 


	4. fingers crossed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously on soul sisters: ymir survived the first day of sorority recruitment. this week: she takes one step closer to historia.

If the first day of recruitment was a war, then the second day is a bloodbath. 

The number of girls huddled on the sidewalk is diminished significantly when Ymir makes her way back to sorority row the next day. She's a little taken back. She knew that people would be cut (like, there was definitely a part of her that believed she would never have cause to set foot on this street again), but she didn't expect the slashes to be so brutal. Her recruitment group lost half its members overnight.

While it's jarring to see just how many girls have been sliced from the bidding war, it's also pretty fantastic. Ymir's not going to wallow in pity for anyone else, especially now that her chances at getting at bid from Zeta Chi have increased exponentially. This just means less competition for her! 

The routine is the same. Ymir shows up in navy instead of black (wild, she knows) and is paraded into a line by the overly enthusiastic recruitment counselors, who have apparently doubled their caffeine dose for the second day. 

"WHO'S EXCITED?!" Kelsie shrieks down the street. 

Ymir winces instead of partaking in the raucous cheer that follows, but this time she can't even blame the freshmen for yelling their hearts out. She, too, is about to yell her heart out, and by that she means rip it out of her chest and offer it to Historia on bended knee. 

Her first visit is to the Iota Xi house. Today is philanthropy day, and while the Xis are obviously passionate about quadriplegic awareness, Ymir is ready back to march back into the Zeta house and talk for days about the fight against leukemia. But mostly she's just excited to see Historia again. 

It is  a familiar face that greets her at the Zeta house, but unfortunately it's not Historia. Janelle is there again, grinning as she takes Ymir's arm and welcomes her back into the house. That's fine, though. Ymir could use a little warm-up before she busts out her theatrics for Historia. 

"It's so nice to see you again, Ymir," Janelle says cheerfully as she leads Ymir back into the same room. "We're really excited about today because we'll be sharing our philanthropy with you and talking about what we do to help our community."

"Great," Ymir exclaims in an equally happy tone. Her smile may be fake, but she's getting pretty used to this small talk shit. Honestly, they should give her a bid just for the amount of effort she's putting into these trivial conversations. 

Ymir is offered a seat at a large round table near the door, and the chairs around her quickly fill with other girls and the sisters they're chatting up. The refreshments appear before her just as magically as they did yesterday, but this time she's caught on to the action behind the scenes. There are girls constantly floating around the room, carrying drink trays and monitoring the flow of conversations, reporting every so often to someone who stands inconspicuously in the corner of the room, taking notes. This  _is_ a fucking war, and these girls know every square inch of their battle plans. 

"So, do you know anything about our philanthropy?" Janelle asks when she takes a seat next to Ymir. 

"Uh, it's leukemia awareness, right?" Ymir asks. She actually did do research on this (and by research, she means that she googled Zeta's philanthropy on the way over here because her recruitment counselor sent out a mass text with a dozen emojis reminding the girls that they should know what they're talking about). She's got the schmoozing down pat, and while Janelle's nice enough to talk to, Historia is the one Ymir really needs to be persuading. 

"That's right," Janelle says, beaming. "I'd be happy to tell you a little more about it."

"That'd be great," Ymir says, glancing around the room. 

She's paying attention, honestly, but she knows that Historia must be floating around somewhere, waiting for her cue to butt into this conversation. There's no point to all of this if Historia herself isn't witness to what a great Zeta Ymir could be, so she finds herself a little deflated when her scan of the room reveals no cute blonde angels hiding anywhere. Maybe she's just outside the door.

"So, do you have any questions?" Janelle asks.

Ymir blinks, glancing back to her. "Sorry, what?"

"I'd be happy to answer any questions you have about our philanthropy," Janelle says. 

"Uh..."

"Or I could tell you about the fundraising event we did last semester," Janelle says. "We raised over $18,000 for leukemia research."

"Yeah, of course," Ymir says. She clears her throat. "I'd  _love_ to hear about that."

Janelle is happy to go on about it until the next Zeta sister appears at her shoulder to take over the conversation, and to Ymir's disappointment, it's not Historia. 

"Hi, Janelle!"

"Hey, Camilla! I was just talking to Ymir about our Sundae Fundraiser last semester!" 

"Awesome! Hi, Ymir, I'm Camilla!" 

And the show goes on. 

The Alpha Alpha chapter of Zeta Chi has done _so much_ for the fight against leukemia, and philanthropy events are _such_ good sisterhood bonding events, and Ymir hears that from two more sisters, both of whom are definitely not Historia. Before she knows it, she is being led out the door with a hand on her shoulder and a shout of well wishes for the rest of recruitment. 

Okay. 

So. 

It's not like that went badly, but she saw no sign of Historia, who is the sole reason that Ymir is even doing any of this, and she's not going to pretend like that doesn't bum her out at least a little bit. Still, Zeta invited her back once, and she feels like she continued to make a good impression today, despite not actually, like, caring about any of those other girls. She thinks she's still in the running.

And the end goal is what matters, after all. She doesn't care how she gets into Zeta Chi, as long as she has chance at winning Historia's heart. 

Ymir is so unfocused during the last round of the day that she spills her pomegranate lemonade on the friendly girl telling her all about childhood literacy at Beta Alpha Epsilon. 

"Oh my god, don't even worry about it," Sasha exclaims, throwing a bundle of napkins into the floor. "I spill shit all the time- sorry, I'm not supposed to swear. I promise we're not a debaucherous house of hooligans. Okay, maybe we are, but have I told you about our philanthropy event?"

"Was it a drinking contest?" Ymir asks.

"No, but it was a build-your-own pasta bar, and all the proceeds funded a new quiet reading room at the local elementary school." 

Okay, that's pretty legit. 

The second day of recruitments flies by, and when Ymir makes it make to her room after voting (Zeta first, obviously, and the other two in whatever random order she chose), it's already dark outside. She  collapses onto her bed, shoes kicked off onto the floor, and promptly picks up her phone to stare at it, waiting for Kelsie's call. She'll find out by the end of the night if she was invited back. It's just a waiting game now. 

Her phone rings almost instantly, and Ymir answers it before she can register the name on the screen.

"I'm gonna fucking kill you," she exclaims. 

"Soooo," Reiner says on the other end, "is it bad news?"

"It's no news," Ymir growls. "I'm still waiting for the phone call, you asshole."

"Oh, sorry. I texted you, like, a hundred times but you didn't answer."

"Yeah, I just got home." Ymir rubs her forehead, staring up at the ceiling. "You know, this plan of yours is a lot of fucking work."

"Plan of mine?" Reiner echoes. "You're the one who thought you had to join a sorority just so Historia would talk to you."

"You're the one who made me actually do it," Ymir exclaims, sitting upright. "I just wanted to pretend!"

"That would never have worked, so you have me to thank."

"This might not work either, dipshit, so thanks for that."

There's a pause on the other end and Ymir thinks, oh fuck, I admitted some vulnerable feelings, are we going to have to talk about it now-

"Did you finally get tired of acting fake happy?" Reiner asks.

Ymir huffs. "No, I had a perfectly wonderful time at the Zeta house. I just didn't get to talk to Historia at all, which, like, I'm trying to bond with her, so it'd be nice if I could, like, actually talk to her."

She freezes with a sudden realization. "God, do you think Historia didn't want to see me again? Is that why I didn't get to talk to her?"

"I think that's just how recruitment works," Reiner says. "Didn't your Rho Gamma tell you anything?"

"You already know that I wasn't listening." 

"Well, it's not fair to have the same person vote on you in every single round," Reiner explains. "Usually, they'll give you one person to see everyday, for a familiar face, but otherwise they try to make you talk to as many people as possible."

He cuts her off on her next breath.

"This, by the way," he adds, "is premium intel from my contacts in Zeta Chi. I put in a good word for you with Sara and Rachel."

"Okay, well, I don't know who the fuck they are," Ymir exclaims. "I've been stuck with Janelle this whole time."

"Wait, who's Janelle?"

"Don't you know everyone?"

"I don't know  _everyone_. Wait, Janelle King? I think she's Zeta's finance person."

"Yeah, I knew it."

"What, you don't like her?"

"She's fine," Ymir says, flopping back onto her bed, her legs thrown out. "But she's not Historia."

"Well, you should at least pretend to like her. Tomorrow is prefs."

"...sorry, what's that again?"

"That's the day where they, like, beg you to join," Reiner says. "I mean, I don't really know, but apparently it's some kind of ritual and most girls come out crying-"

"Gross."

"-but basically, if you make it to prefs, it means they want you to join."

Ymir furrows her brow, a slow smile working its way onto her lips. "Wait, so if I go back to Zeta tomorrow, then I'm basically in!"

"It's not guaranteed or anything-"

"You just said!"

"I know what I said," Reiner exclaims, cutting her off. "I just meant that it's rare for girls to get dropped once they make it to prefs. I think at that point it would be because, like, some weird thing about filling quotas and the way the math works out. I don't really understand the way sororities do it, but I've heard that sometimes the system fucks people over."

"Not me," Ymir says. "I'm the one fucking the system." 

"...okay, well-"

"I can't believe I ever doubted myself," Ymir exclaims, rolling onto her stomach, flopping her head down onto a pillow. "They liked me enough to invite me back today and I was stellar again, so there's no reason why I shouldn't be going back tomorrow."

She pauses. "Right?"

"Hey, I don't know," Reiner says. "Just remember what I said, no matter what happens?"

"...embrace the sweet-scented spirit of Elle Woods? Got it."

"I have never said that, but it's great advice. No, I'm talking about the other thing. Even if Zeta Chi drops you-"

"They won't," Ymir huffs. "I've got it in the bag."

"Just keep your options open. I don't want you to have any regrets." 

"Yeah, okay, whatever."

"Good. I have to go rescue Bert now, because I think he's been talked into a strip poker game with the entire percussion section and you know that's not going to end well. But I'm proud of you and I lo-"

Ymir hangs up on him. 

She has very nearly fallen asleep when she jerks upright with a gasp, remembering that she is still waiting for a phone call from her recruitment counselor. She's supposed to hear back before midnight and, fuck, it's only nine o'clock. She'll drive herself insane if she just sits there.

**Text from Ymir**  
where r u guys

**Text from Reiner**  
our place

**Text from Ymir**  
great be there in ten

**Text from Reiner**  
wait r u coming over bcus u need emotional support  
we will emotionally support you

**Text from Ymir**  
no i'm just bored and it's saturday night

**Text from Bertholdt**  
i don't think you're supposed to party during sorority recruitment

**Text from Ymir**  
how the fuck would u know

**Text from Reiner**  
we almost got annie to come over and party  
but she said she couldnt

**Text from Ymir**  
annie????  
bassist annie?????

**Text from Reiner**  
yeah  
we've been trying to get her to come out with us for years and it's never worked

**Text from Ymir**  
i mean good  
why would you want that

**Text from Reiner**  
well at first it was because bert was in love with her

**Text from Bertholdt**  
don't listen to anything he says

**Text from Ymir**  
sorry WHAT

**Text from Reiner**  
but then she ignored him forever  
anyways its like a game now  
pieck has 500 dollars on annie breaking into this party and killing all of us

**Text from Ymir**  
sorry im still hanging onto the part where bert was in love with her

**Text from Bertholdt**  
i was not

**Text from Reiner**  
UHHH say that to my face

**Text from Bertholdt**  
fine but i was never in love with her 

**Text from Reiner**  
ok bud   
we all believe that 

**Text from Bertholdt**  
at least i never fucked porco

**Text from Reiner**  
that was low but i respect your comeback 

**Text from Ymir**  
wait HOLD ON I MISSED SOMETHING  
does that means BASSIST ANNIE is in a sorority

**Text from Reiner**  
yeah but she wont tell us which one  
hey that can be ur secondary mission

**Text from Ymir**  
im definitely getting into zeta now  
if annie can get into a sorority then i totally can   
at least i know how to smile

**Text from Reiner**  
thats the spirit   
come to the party!!!!

Party might be a bit of a strong word for whatever is happening at Reiner and Bertholdt's apartment, because by the time Ymir trudges there in the dark (they only live, like, a few blocks away but she's tired and lazy), the scene has devolved into an emotional healing session, featuring alcohol. Music students are camped around the tiny living room, some on chairs, some on the floor, all of them imbibing, and going around the circle one by one, just letting shit out.

Ymir stands in the doorway and kicks Bertholdt behind the knees.

"I thought you guys were having a party," she hisses when he nearly wipes out. 

"It got a little out of hand," Bertholdt mutters back. "And by out of hand, I mean Reiner started crying because he's proud of you, which is weird because you haven't really done anything-"

"Thanks, asshole."

"-and then it just kind of caught on, so now they're going around and talking about their feelings, I guess..." 

Bertholdt trails off, shrugging. 

"So, you're just standing in the corner like a creep?" Ymir says. 

"It's my apartment, I can stand however I want." 

"Ymir's here!" Reiner calls from the couch. 

The circle immediately and drunkenly echoes his call, shouting Ymir's name so loudly that she winces. She barely even likes these people.

"Hi," Ymir says when they finally shut up. "Can you guys never do that again?"

"Ymir," Reiner yells, waving an arm to her. "Come tell us about your emotions!"

She heads into the kitchen. "No thanks, I'm just gonna take a hundred shots."

The word  _shots_ apparently ignites something in the otherwise mellow party crowd, because by the time Ymir has found a bottle of tequila, the music is blasting again and there are six people lined up at the counter. She takes her shot (just kidding, she takes two), then grabs a beer from the fridge and makes her way across the crowded room to find something to do. Someone is setting up Ring of Fire on the coffee table. Great, she needs a distraction. 

The game goes on for a while, and by her third turn, Ymir is beginning to forget about the call she's expecting. There's plenty of alcohol and it calms the nerves in her stomach, so she willingly lets Pieck continually refill her cup with something that tastes way too good to be safe to drink that fast. 

At some point, the crowd begins to dwindle as people head out to other, bigger parties on campus, but the Galliard brothers show up near eleven with another case of beer. Judging by the smirk on Bertholdt's face, he's the one who invited them. There are some weird vibes here that Ymir does not understand, but it's pretty fucking funny when Reiner and Porco accidentally sit next to each other and try to pretend like everyone in the room doesn't know that they fucked. Either way, fresh alcohol means a fresh card game, and Ymir loses track of the hours. 

It's half past eleven when she finally gets to her feet again. The floor is spinning a bit, but it's the time on the kitchen clock that makes her nauseous. How did it get so late? And why hasn't she gotten a fucking call yet? 

That can't be a good sign, she thinks as she makes her way to the kitchen, or maybe it has nothing to do with her. Maybe she was the first person they decided to invite back, and now they're just arguing about the girls at the bottom of their list. Maybe the recruitment counselors fucked everything up and it's taking a lot longer than expected to get the calls out. 

Or maybe it's not a good sign. 

She should drink some fucking water. 

She nearly runs into Marcel as she heads for the sink. He's leaning against the counter, listening intently to some second violinist ramble on about whatever. Ymir scoots past him and fills her plastic cup at the sink (finally, some delicious fucking hydration), then turns around and drops some eaves. 

"It's just so weird," the violinist is saying. "I can't believe no one's heard anything."

"I don't know anyone who's reached out," Marcel says, frowning into his cup. 

"I know, but I'm just saying, like, I don't even hear people talking about it. It's like nothing ever fucking happened."

"It's not really anyone's business," Marcel says quietly, then perks up when he sees Ymir lingering beside them. 

"Oh, hey!" he exclaims. "Look who's here!"

Ymir regrets coming over here. "Yeah, hey, Marcel."

"Ymir, I heard that you're rushing!"

The violinist chokes on her beer. " _You're_ rushing a  _sorority_?"

"Yeah, I am," Ymir exclaims, leaning back against the sink. "Because I'm a fucking catch."

She takes a sip of water, then glances at Marcel. "How'd you know that I'm rushing?"

"Siobhan told me," he says. He cocks his head. "You met Siobhan, right? At the bonfire?"

Ymir furrows her brow. "Wait, did she say something about me?"

"Oh, yeah," Marcel says.

"Well,  _what_?"

"She said that you're rushing."

Ymir stares at him. "Are you fucking serious?" 

"...what?"

"That's it?"

He shrugs, eyes wide. "Well, that was basically it, you know, she said she saw you at the Zeta house and stuff like that."

"Stuff like that?" Ymir exclaims, setting up cup down. " _Stuff_ like  _that_?"

"...uh, yeah, that's what I-"

"Listen, Mario," Ymir exclaims. 

"That's not-"

"It's very important to me that I get into that sorority," Ymir continues, jabbing a finger at him. "I have dedicated the last week of my life to schmoozing my way into that sisterhood, and my chances will be not be ruined just because you withheld information about what the Zetas actually think of me!"

"She didn't say anything bad," Marcel exclaims, holding up his hands. His drink sloshes over the side of his cup and drips onto the floor. "I just asked her how long she'd be over there, because they're still voting, and then she mentioned that your name came up a few times and-"

"They're still voting?" Ymir yells. "It's almost midnight!"

"Well, that was about an hour ago, so..."

"Oh my god, you couldn't have told me this an hour ago?"

"I just thought, I mean there's nothing you can do about it, so-"

"Get out of my sight," Ymir growls. 

Marcel hesitates for a moment, then nudges past her to disappear into the living. Ymir throws herself back against the counter with a sigh, then glances at the violinist who is still standing there, quietly sipping her beer.

" _What_?" Ymir snarls.

The violinist shrugs and turns away. 

They're still voting? What the hell is taking so long? 

And what's worse, Ymir's name came up more than once. That can't be a good sign. That means they weren't totally sold on her, and some of them had to think about it. Maybe she wasn't as persuasive as she thought.  But at least someone is vouching for her, keeping her name in the ring. Hopefully it's Historia, but at this point, she'll settle for any Zeta who's on her side, as long as they can get her in.

Fuck water, she needs another shot. 

"You're out of tequila!" Ymir exclaims when Reiner meanders into the kitchen.

"Its expensive," he says, then snatches the empty bottle away. "Hey, I heard you yelling at Marcel. Was he too polite to you or something?"

"He was being a real dick," Ymir blurts out.

Reiner raises his eyebrow, and she rolls her eyes. 

"No, you're right," she says with a sigh. "It's not his fault that he's a tactless idiot."

"Be gentle with him."

"Fuck you," Ymir exclaims. "He just told me that Siobhan told him that the Zetas are still voting on girls to invite back tomorrow! Or at least they were an hour ago."

Reiner swallows a mouthful of beer, staring at her. "Who?"

"The Zetas! They're deciding my fate as we speak!"

"No, who told Marcel?"

"Siobhan," Ymir says. "She was at the bonfire with Historia."

"Oh, right. Is she sleeping with him?"

"Yeah, for some reason."

Reiner thinks about it. "Yeah, she's way out of his league."

Ymir kicks him in the shin.

Reiner chokes on his beer. "What was that for?!"

"That's what people say about me and Historia, you asshole!" 

"No one says that, no one even knows that you like her, because you're so bad at talking to girls-"

He stops short when Ymir's phone rings. 

They stare at each other for a second; then Ymir swears and reaches into her pocket, fumbling for her phone. Kelsie's number flashes at the top of the screen, and she bites her lip, her stomach turning.

"Answer it!" Reiner exclaims.

"I'm fucking answering it!" Ymir hisses, slapping his hand away. "Shut up and act cool!" 

She answers on the next ring. 

"Hello?" Ymir croaks. 

"Hi, Ymir, it's Kelsie! I'm calling to let you know that you've been invited back to two houses for tomorrow's preference round!" 

"Two!" Reiner whispers.

"Shut up, I'm trying to- that's great, Kelsie! Which ones?"

Her heart pounds. 

"So, tomorrow you're going back to Beta Alpha Epsilon and Zeta Chi!" 

"I'm going back!" Ymir roars, throwing her hands up into the air. 

"Holy shit!" Reiner yells. "You're actually doing it!"

"Fuck you for doubting me," Ymir exclaims. She puts the phone back to her ear. "Hey Kelsie, you're the fucking bomb."

"So, I'll see you tomorrow at eight a.m.!"

"At  _when_?"

It's barely midnight when Ymir goes to bed, because apparently the last round of recruitment begins on Sunday morning at 8:45, and for some reason that requires her to show up forty-five minutes early. She needs at least seven hours of sleep to be relatively sober tomorrow, although judging by the things she reads about the prefs round while she's googling instead of sleeping, it might not be such a bad thing to be, like, just a little tipsy. This is the serious round, the internet tells her, the one where the sisters pull out all their ritual chants and spell books or whatever. And Reiner was right again: many girls have reported leaving in tears. 

Well, the only way she'll be crying on her way out the door is if this is actually an elaborate hoax, and the Zetas are only inviting her back so they can egg her right in front of Historia. 

But that's just the nightmare that wakes her in a cold sweat at 4 a.m. 

The reality is much, much better. 

Sunday morning arrives with skies full of sunshine, as if the world is trying to tell her something. Ymir wakes with a good feeling about the day, despite the fact that she's definitely a little hungover. Maybe she gags into the toilet for ten minutes. Maybe she drags herself to the dining hall and devours a greasy breakfast in an attempt to quell her stomach. She absolutely does both of those things before heading back to sorority row, because she's feeling good today. She's going back to Zeta Chi, which basically means that she's getting a bid. Soon, nothing will stand in between her and Historia. 

The bid day ceremony takes place on Sunday night, and from what Ymir has heard, it's less of a ceremony and more of just, like, a free for all. She's not crazily looking forward to wearing a white dress and sprinting into a crowd of screaming sisters, but she'll take what she can get. 

At least Ymir has managed to reign her emotions in. The number of girls gathered on sorority row has dwindled again today, and some of them are holding back tears. For a moment, she wonders if she should have read the news this morning. Then she overhears a recruitment counselor comforting two sullen-faced freshmen ("It doesn't mean they didn't like you! Maybe that house just wasn't the right fit for you. Let's keep our chins up and our minds open, ladies!") and is reminded that, oh yeah, some of these girls take this shit really seriously. 

It's like a funeral procession when the girls line up outside of the Zeta house. Ymir is nearly bouncing out of her shoes with confidence, but half the girls in line look like they're about to vomit. 

"Okay, ladies," Kelsie says, clipboard clutched to her chest.

For the first time all weekend, she's not shouting as she speaks.

"This is it," she continues. "The preference round is the last chance you'll have to make a connection in these houses. This round is very special and different from anything you've experienced so far.

"You'll be greeted at the door by a sister," she says, walking down the line, "and she'll be the one to guide you through the whole experience. I know you've had to do a lot of talking this weekend, but today it's your turn to listen. The sisters will be sharing their stories with you."

Once she reaches the back of the line, she turns around and smiles at them. Ymir does not like the knowing look in her eyes.

"After that, you'll vote for the last time," Kelsie says. "Tonight, we'll reveal the bids."

Ymir has to fight against rolling her eyes. Okay, fine, she can sit through some weird ceremony, but she's not going to pretend to cry. It's, like, not that deep.

"Good luck, ladies," Kelsie says from behind the line. "And remember: be true to yourselves."

The front door opens slowly, and the soft melody of a song echoes outside. When Ymir steps over the threshold, the hallway is dimly lit. The sisters are singing as they lead their hopefuls into the next room, a hand on their arms to guide them. They've forgone the soft pastels of the earlier days and are dressed head to toe in black, which is a look Ymir supports fully. 

Janelle meets her at the door and takes her arm.

"Welcome back, Ymir," she says. "We're so happy to have you here."

She speaks softly through a wide smile, and Ymir tries to smile back as she realizes how uncomfortably intimate this next hour is about to be. 

Janelle guides her down the dark hallway, joining in the song as they walk. Ymir is more than a little perturbed, but like Kelsie said, today is her chance to just listen. Hopefully, she can just get through this without fucking anything up. 

They duck through draping black curtains at the end of the hallway and emerge into a wide room. The walls are lined with thick, white drapes, and illuminated from behind with low, golden lights. White chairs encircle the room, facing the far wall that is covered with a gauzy backdrop. A table stands at the front of the room with an empty vase in its center, surrounded by loose fairy lights. The Zeta sisters guide the girls to sit down. Ymir and Janelle sit near the back of the room, surrounded by the rest of the sisters, who stand against the walls and finish the slow song with soft, melodic notes. 

This time, there is no grand introduction. Instead, the music fades out, and Janelle turns to face Ymir, still smiling.

"So, today is a little more serious," she says softly.

"Uh, yeah," Ymir says. "I mean, I was warned, but this is... a lot."

"We're not expecting anything from you today," Janelle says. "You've been to a lot of houses this weekend and you've probably had to explain to every person why you chose to be here this weekend.

"Preferences is a little more intimate," she continues, "because this is when we share our stories with you. We're going to hear from some of my sisters about why they joined Zeta and what this sisterhood means to them, and then we'll have a chance to talk one on one."

Ymir would be lying if she said she wasn't a little thrilled right now: partly because she's actually here, this close to fulfilling her dream, and partly because she expects a ritual sacrifice on the altar any minute. But mostly, she is just anxious for this to be over. She tries to glance around the room as two sisters take the platform and begin their impassioned speeches about sisterhood, but she can't do it without looking conspicuously bored. Some of the girls around here are actually sniffling as the two sisters speaking proclaim sob stories about how Zeta changed their lives. Okay, cool, but, like, is Historia here right now? 

"I have friends in all my sisters," one of the girls is saying when Ymir tunes back in. She gives a tearful glance to the girl next to her. "But I have a best friend standing next to me, and I would never have met her without Zeta Chi."

The other girl smiles back. "We're sisters through and through. So we hope that, wherever you find your home, it treats you as well as Zeta Chi has treated us." 

A coo ripples through the room, and their exit is met with a passionate round of golf claps from the audience. Ymir sees several girls wiping away tears. Okay. So. There's a lot happening right now and she didn't pay attention to most of it, but that performance is followed by another emotionally rousing confessional about finally finding a home away from home. So, Ymir was definitely on target with the bullshit answers that she spewed for the first two days of recruitment, but, like, god, she was just making that stuff up. These girls are totally serious about it. 

When the speeches are finished, Janelle turns back to her with a teary smile. 

"How are you feeling?" she asks softly.

"Uh," Ymir says. "There are a lot of emotions in this room."

"It can get pretty emotional at prefs," Janelle says, "This is a really special time for us, because it's the only moment during recruitment where we can really sit down and share our sisterhood with all of you. Zeta really is like our family, and it can be pretty overwhelming to talk about it."

"Uh, yeah," Ymir says. "I can, uh, see that."

"Do you have any more questions?" Janelle asks. "I know there's been a lot of information to take in this weekend, so now is the time to ask if you feel like there's anything you missed."

"Uh," Ymir says.

Janelle smiles at her.

"No, I think I'm good," Ymir says. "Can't think of anything."

"Great," Janelle says, brushing her hair back over her shoulders. "Then I think it's time for me to share my Zeta story." 

It's the same story that Ymir heard from the girls who talked to the whole room: feeling like something was missing, looking for a family, finding a second home. Yeah, she gets it by now. She's ready to get out of here. She's got one more prefs ceremony to sit through at the Beta house, and then she gets to play the waiting game all afternoon until she gets her bid. Her bid from Zeta, obviously, because she will accept nothing less. 

Just as Janelle is finishing her story (to her credit, she doesn't cry), the room begins to stir and Ymir realizes with a wave of relief that they have finally reached the end of the hour. The girls at the front of the room have started moving, slowly rising from their chairs and making their way to the front table.

Janelle reaches under her chair and produces a single white rose, which she hands to Ymir wordlessly. 

"Thanks," Ymir says. 

"This rose symbolizes our commitment to our sisterhood," Janelle says. "We'd like to invite you to add your rose to our vase, and we hope that you think about what this sisterhood means." 

The sisters lining the walls begin to sing again as the first girls file out of the room in silence. Janelle guides Ymir to the front table and gestures to the vase, which is now half full with white roses. Ymir silently sinks hers into cluster, and then she is led out of the room again, Janelle's hand on her arm, the song rising from the soft voices around them. 

God, she needs to detox after that. 

Wait, she still has to go to the other house. 

"Feeling good, ladies?" Kelsie exclaims when the girls are lined up at the Beta house. "Nervous? Excited?"

"So excited," Ymir yawns, and Kelsie gives her big thumbs-up. 

The preference ceremony at Beta Alpha Epsilon is just as unbearably long, but at least a little more enjoyable. It follows the same routine as Zeta's ceremony, though the room is draped in black curtains instead of white, and there is significantly less crying. Ymir sits with the girl from the day before, who mentions at least five times the lemonade that Ymir spilled on her skirt. 

When the hour comes to an end, she hands Ymir a glittering star-shaped pin.

"Because I'm a star?" Ymir asks. 

Sasha grins. "Yep."

"Nice."

"But seriously," Sasha says, gesturing for Ymir to stand with her. "Beta sisters are always striving to reach the highest heights. So today, we invite you to hang your star among ours."

Ymir pins her star to the black curtains where it glitters among the others, and then she is finally released to cast her vote. 

It's not a hard decision, obviously. Still, she pauses for a moment before she puts pen to paper. She finally made it here, after days of spouting bullshit and pretending to care about sisterhood, and now the next stage of her plan can finally begin. Once she's a Zeta, she will be Historia's equal. They'll be playing in the same league, literally, and then Historia will have no reason not to fall for her. 

Ymir slashes a check through the box for Zeta Chi. 

When she submits her ballot, Kelsie smiles at her. 

"All done?" she chirps.

"Yep," Ymir says. "Finally done."

Kelsie takes the ballot and carefully sets it where it belongs. 

"Well, good luck!" she exclaims. "I'll you call this afternoon to let you know the details about tonight."

"Sure thing," Ymir says, and she practically skips out the door.

It's just a waiting game now. Tonight, she'll be a Zeta.  


	5. flower on the wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously on soul sisters: ymir bets everything on zeta chi. this week: a miscalculation. or not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally. things are happening.

Ymir showers as soon as she gets home from prefs, because she smells like emotions. She can't let people think that she actually has feelings. Once clean, she makes the sad trip to the campus dining hall for lunch on a Sunday. Normally, she would have gotten her fill at brunch with Reiner and Bertholdt, but she had to skip the weekly visit to Tom's Diner today for the prefs events. So instead, she sits alone in the sparse cafeteria and picks at an unfortunate plate of pasta. At least it comes with garlic bread. 

By time she finishes her pathetic lunch, it's afternoon. Kelsie could call at any minute with the final results of this week's long, arduous efforts. Ymir wanders around campus for a few minutes, anxiously checking her phone, then gets an iced coffee and decides to wait it out.

She waits. 

It takes ten minutes for Ymir to lose her fucking mind. God, like, she  _knows_ she has Zeta in the bag, but she can't just sit here and wait for confirmation. It's driving her crazy. She'll go harass R&B. They should be back from brunch by now.

They are back from brunch, and Ymir finds out by showing up at their apartment uninvited, interrupting an intense game of Scrabble. 

"I'm glad you're here," Reiner says when he lets her in. "We're only playing with sex words and Bert desperately needs someone on his team."

"This is unfair," Bertholdt mutters as he lays down  _abstain_.

"That's your word?" Reiner exclaims. 

Bertholdt shuffles his tiles aggressively. "I never took sex ed, so excuse me if I am lacking in an expansive sexual vocabulary!"

"I didn't either!"

"Yeah," Ymir says, collapsing onto the couch. "But you know how to use Google."

Bertholdt stares at his tiles, frowning. "This game is rigged." 

Ymir takes a long, obnoxious slurp of her iced coffee. "Are you going to flip the board or something?" 

He politely scrapes all the tiles onto the floor.

"What a rebel," Ymir sighs. 

Reiner sits on the other end of the couch, a mug full of hot tea balanced carefully in his hands, as Bertholdt gathers the tiles from the carpet, one by one. 

"Sooooo," Reiner says, glancing sideways at Ymir. "How was your morning?"

"Fine," she mutters.

She's spent the last three days of her life yammering about sororities, and honestly, she could use a fucking break before the shit gets real. 

"Just fine?"

"I mean, it was good," Ymir says, shaking her iced coffee. "Zeta Chi totally loves me."

"Wait, did you actually get in?" Bertholdt exclaims, looking up.

Ymir glares at him. "Is it so hard to believe that I could actually do something right?"

"I mean..."

"Whatever," Ymir huffs. She slumps back in her seat. "I don't know yet anyways. Kelsie's supposed to call me to, like, confirm that I got a bid, but I'm not gonna know until tonight if it's from Zeta Chi. Ugh, I'm so tired of listening to heartfelt speeches."

"You should find some enthusiasm," Reiner says, then pauses to blow on his tea. "The bid day ceremony is a big deal. You gotta tear open that envelope and run home to your sister!"

"Ugh."

“Hey, you’re nowhere near done with the boring sorority stuff. There’s, like, classes and rituals and stuff.”

“There are classes?!” Ymir exclaims, flinging herself upright. “What do you mean, classes?”

Reiner shrugs. “You have to learn about, like, history and symbolism and stuff.”

“Are you serious? Fraternities don’t do that shit, do they?”

“Of course we do,” Reiner exclaims. “I mean, we’re supposed to, but no, we don’t not really. We do, but it’s half-assed like everything else.”

Ymir slumps down in her seat. “Great.”

“Hey, you didn’t see find out which sorority Annie’s in, did you?”

“That wasn’t exactly a priority.”

“I have such a hard time imagining her getting along with other girls,” Reiner says, staring at the ceiling. “Maybe she was lying to us.”

“No, I feel like I’ve heard her talk about it before,” Bertholdt says from the floor, his hands full of Scrabble tiles.

“Oh yeah, you would know,” Ymir says, swirling her iced coffee. She ignores Bertholdt glaring at her. “God, I should’ve played the bass. It’s such a gay instrument.” 

“You think she’s gay?”

“Why do you care?” Reiner exclaims. He nudges the Scrabble board off the coffee table with his foot, flinging it at Bertholdt. “You’re not on the market!”

“I’m just asking!”

“The whole sorority thing is pretty gay,” Ymir says. “I mean, I know they’re all sisters and shit, but you should’ve seen it in there today. So much crying and hugging, like, get it together, ladies…”

“Oh, did you meet Mikasa?” Reiner exclaims, glancing across at her. “She’s a Beta.”

“How do you know all these people?” Ymir asks, swallowing a mouthful of iced coffee. “Do you get a guidebook or something?”

“She hangs out with Eren, so she’s at the Gamma house a lot,” Reiner says. “You’ve met Eren, right?”

Ymir furrows her brow. “That name sounds familiar…”

Bertholdt drops the Scrabble board back into its box. “Think back.”

She thinks. “Wait, is he the one who went into a rage and kicked over his stand at our first winter concert?”

“Yeah, you’ve met him.”

“God, Reiner, what kind of fraternity are you in?” Ymir exclaims.

“The gay one.”

“Is he gay? That would explain the rage.”

“No, I think…” Reiner trails off. “Huh.”

Ymir looks at him. “What?”

“I was going to say that he’s dating Mikasa,” Reiner says, his brow furrowed in contemplation. “But I actually think they’re related somehow. Cousins? Or she’s his bodyguard? We’re not sure.” 

Ymir rolls her eyes. “Christ.”

Bertholdt dumps all the Scrabble tiles back into the bag and puts the lid on the box. “Ymir, you were better off not being involved in all of this Greek nonsense. It’s just on drama after that next.”

“So, very Greek, then.”

“We keep things lively,” Reiner says. He blows on his tea. “This campus would be nothing without us.”

Ymir is thinking about smacking the tea cup into his face when her phone rings. For a moment, she freezes, her straw still stuck in her mouth. This is it. It’s happening. Just a few words over the phone and she’ll be running home to Historia tonight. 

She leaps up from the couch and scrambles to answer her phone.

“Everybody shut up,” Ymir hisses, stumbling over to the kitchen. She slams her iced coffee onto the counter and takes a deep breath. “This is my future calling.”

“We weren’t saying anything.

“Shut up!” She answers the call. “Hello?”

“Hi, Ymir,” Kelsie exclaims from the other end. “I’m calling about the details of tonight.”

She’s less bubbly, her voice undoubtedly hoarse from yelling at stupid freshmen all weekend. 

“Right,” Ymir says, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “Okay, so what’s the deal? Do I really have to wear a white dress?”

“So, unfortunately,” Kelsie says.

Ymir’s heart stops.

“You didn’t receive a bid,” Kelsie says. “I’m so sorry.”

Ymir blinks. She glances across the room at Reiner, then looks away. “Wait, sorry, what?”

“Unfortunately, you didn’t receive a bid from either house you visited today,” Kelsie says. “If you want to talk about it, then I’m always here to-“

“I went back to two houses and neither of them wanted me?” 

Reiner is suddenly at her side, trying to press his ear against the phone to listen in. Ymir smacks him away.

“Sometimes this happens,” Kelsie says. “I know it’s upsetting, but it happens to more people than you’d think. There’s always informal recruitment in the spring, and-“

Ymir hangs up.

“Geez,” Bertholdt mutters from the coffee table. “What’d you do to them, Ymir?”

“Nothing!” she wails, slamming her phone down on the counter. “I didn’t do anything! I was- god, I spent so much fucking time smiling and it was all for nothing.”

“Maybe it wasn’t totally for nothing,” Reiner offers, but Ymir has already slumped back to the living room and draped herself across the coffee table, moaning.

“Now she’ll never love me,” Ymir mutters, her head collapsed on the table. “Historia will never want to be with me without that prime sorority access. I’m going to be an ugly music student forever.

“Thanks,” Bertholdt says.

“Don’t say that!” Reiner exclaims. 

“Why not?” Ymir moans. She throws her arms out across the coffee table, her breath fogging up the glass surface. “It’s true.”

“Oh, come no,” Bertholdt mutters.

Ymir raises her head to stare at him. “Wait, are you actually trying to console me?”

“What?” he asks, glancing at her. “No, you knocked the Scrabble box over. Now I have to pick up all the tiles again.”

Ymir throws her head down on the coffee table and wails.

“Bert, you’re not helping.”

“I don’t understand how this plan was supposed to work anyways. What exactly was she supposed to gain from joining Historia’s cult?”

“Access! And true love!”

Ymir pulls herself up and sits back on her feet, staring forlornly at the foggy impression of her face on the coffee table. 

“I’ve literally never been this disappointed in my life,” she mutters. “This wasn’t even, like, a real thing, but I’m so fucking sad about it.”

She glances up at Reiner, who has resumed his position of the couch and is staring at her while stirring his tea.

“Reiner,” Ymir says. “Have you ever been this disappointed about anything?”

“Every time my mother uses my dead name,” Reiner says. He takes a sip of tea. “But this is a bummer too.”

Bertholdt snorts.

“I’m glad you’re so bummed about it,” Ymir says. “Because I’m fucking _devastated_.”

Reiner sighs and leans forward on the couch. "Okay, Ymir, I know I probably got your hopes up about all of this-"

"Yeah, it was your fucking idea!"

"-but you didn't even want to do it in the first place," he finishes. "You thought it was a stupid idea, and I guess it was. So, really, is it that bad in the end?"

" _Yes_ ," Ymir moans. "Now I have no chance with Historia."

Bertholdt rubs his eyes. "I don't understand why you don't just talk to her-"

"Shut up, you asswipe!" Ymir exclaims.

"You're not helping, get out of here," Reiner yells. 

Bertholdt sits back. "I'm just saying."

Ymir shoves her elbows onto the coffee table and plops her chin down on top of them. She wonders if this is some kind of prank. Maybe this is how Zeta Chi hazes: let her down first, then build her back up. There's no way she didn't get in. She had a fucking stellar time there, all three days. And she went back for prefs. She thought that meant something. 

"Come on," she hears Reiner say as he gives her an affectionate pat on the head. "It's not the end of the world."

"It is," Ymir mutters. "It literally is."

"Okay, you can grieve for a few days, because you put a lot of time and effort into this. And I'll be happy to egg the Zeta house with you, if you want. But we've got a concert coming up, so you can't wallow forever." 

Ymir lifts her head up to glare at him. "How am I supposed to play after this? I'm miserable."

"The bassoon is kind of mournful," Bertholdt says from the other end of the couch. "Just channel that.”

Ymir glances at him. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Okay. 

So. 

It could be worse. 

Ymir knows this because there is a fresh six pack in her mini fridge, and when she gets appropriately drunk later that night, she realizes that at least she's not  _actually_ in a sorority. Like, maybe all of her hopes and dreams are dead, and maybe she won't ever get to see Historia again because she's so busy with sorority stuff, and maybe she will be a lowly bassoonist forever, but at least she doesn't have to deal with all those bullshit rules and rituals. At least she doesn't have to wear a white dress and hold hands with the Zetas and skip around campus singing songs. 

She tries not to imagine holding Historia's hand. 

It could be worse, she tells herself when she's lying alone on her bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant roar of the Bid Day celebrations happening across campus. She didn't think she even knew many sorority girls, but her social media feeds explode that night with a million pictures of white-clad girls gathered on the quad, welcoming their new sisters home. She scrolls through the photos, trying to recognize faces from recruitment. 

She nearly scrolls past a photo from a sophomore piccolo player, some girl whose name she doesn't even know, but then her fingers freeze on the screen. It's not the white dress that catches her eye- like, good for Jessica or whatever, congratulations- but rather the girl in white that she's posting with. 

It's Historia. Of course, it's Historia. Ymir has been searching for her for days, ever since they talked during the first round of recruitment, and here she is, of course, on some piccolo player's Instagram page, welcoming her into Zeta Chi. 

Ymir stares at that photo for a long time, screen held close to her face, wondering what exactly Jessica has that she doesn't. 

The days come and go. 

By the middle of the next week, Ymir has given herself every rationale to chin up: it's not like she really cared, she's too good for them, sororities are a waste of time and money, she should focus on her fucking classes. The last point is the only one that manages to stick, and only because it is thrown in her face by every professor she has. Her woodwind professor cuts their weekly lesson short because she can tell that Ymir hasn't practiced at all, and then she has to endure another lecture from Dr. Mikkelsen about earning her standing in the music school.

Right, okay, she gets it. She had promised herself that she'd work hard this semester. She got distracted by recruitment last weekend, but since she's going to be alone forever, then practicing her ass off for the rest of the semester won't hurt. 

She should be over this, right? It was a stupid idea from the start. She's just some drunk girl that Historia kissed at a party. Getting close to her by joining her sorority wouldn't change that fact. She should resign herself to loving from a distance.

It's not like she could ever hope to join Historia's league anyways, even if she had managed to get into Zeta Chi. Historia is in the spotlight everywhere she goes, while Ymir is lurking in the background. She's probably the one holding the spotlight, and if that didn't clue her in to her prospects earlier, well, she's figured it out now. 

She should be over this, because in a few years she'll remember it as some stupid thing she did in college to try and get some ass. She should be over this by now. Like,  _now_.

Reiner is not making her life any easier. He feels bad, Ymir supposes, because he was the one who talked her into this plan in the first place, and now since it's gone awry, he seems determined to make it up to her. Or at least to coddle her until she yells at him to stop. That takes longer than Ymir expected. Hm, maybe she's learning something in college after all. 

"If you think I'm going to the fucking gym with you," Ymir exclaims on Thursday morning, "I'm going to fucking kill you."

"I would never make you do that," Reiner says, but that doesn't explain why he knocked on her door at 8:30 in the fucking morning on a day when he knows damn well that she doesn't have any morning classes. 

"Then someone better be fucking dead," Ymir says. Her grip tightens on the doorknob as she talks, glaring at him standing innocently in her doorway. 

"Let's get breakfast," Reiner exclaims.

Ymir stares at him. 

"Come on," he says. "I'm buying."

With a huff, Ymir grabs a jacket from her bedpost. 

"Fine," she says. "But I'm wearing my PJs. And you've got to stop walking on glass around me. I was rejected, I get it." 

"Is that something people say?"

"What?" 

"Walking on glass?"

"Yes," Ymir says as she locks her door. "You've never heard that?"

Reiner shrugs. 

"Just stop feeling bad about the whole sorority thing," Ymir exclaims. "I'm fine."

"...really?"

"I will be if you leave me alone!"

He backs away. "Fine. So, breakfast?" 

Breakfast means a corner table at the campus coffee shop, a fluffy croissant that she devours within seconds of ordering, and a venti latte to get her through the rest of the day. So far this semester, she has enjoyed the luxury of free time during the evenings; unfortunately, with the first symphonic concert coming up, and a wind quartet concert right after it, Ymir's days stretch until nightfall now, with extra rehearsal after class. Whatever, at least she had the foresight to drop out of chamber. 

Ymir sips at her coffee while she watches Reiner pick at his quiche- 

("I don't know why you keep ordering those, they're always stale."

"I just wanted some protein! Is that too much to ask?")

-and does her best not to glance around the coffee shop. Even before she knew anything about sorority life, she could always tell when rush had just happened. Girls on campus have been wearing sorority tee shirts non-stop since Monday, and today they have apparently all broken out the same style of shirt, like they have a calendar or something-

("They do have a calendar. Today is Jersey Thursday."

"Did I fucking ask you?")

-and it's really starting to annoy her. There are a suspicious number of Zeta Chis lingering around the piano on the other side of the coffee shop, and while she's pretty sure they're not talking about her, she doesn't want to sit here any longer and wait to find out.

"Come on," Ymir says abruptly, crumpling up her croissant napkin. "Let's just go to Saber."

Reiner glances at her, eyes wide, as she stands. 

"What?" he asks.

She looks at him. "I'm not sitting here anymore, let's just go practice or something."

"You actually want to practice?" Reiner exclaims, standing to follow her. "Oh my gosh, Ymir, you've changed."

"I don't have anything else to do," Ymir grumbles as they spill through the front door. A cool breeze hits them on the steps of the porch, and she hisses, fumbling to put her jacket back on. "God damn, it's only September, what's with the weather?"

"It's global warming, probably," Reiner says, then takes a sip of his coffee. "Maybe, I don't know anything about science. Are you really going to practice at, like, nine in the morning?"

"We have a concert," Ymir says. "And then another concert. And Dr. Mikkelsen is up my ass about my recital, God, I hate him, so, like, yeah, I should practice, right?" 

She tucks her hands into her jacket pockets and starts down the steps with a huff. "This is all I am, anyways. Just a foolish, hopeful bassoonist, so I might as well be a good one." 

"Now, that's not true," Reiner exclaims, starting after her. "I know you don't want to talk about this anymore, but I don't think it's fair to beat yourself up over it. I mean, there's no reason why they didn't invite you back, so that's their fault for not believing in you, right?"

Ymir purses her lips. "Yeah. Yeah, you know what? Fuck sororities."

"...well, okay, maybe not that far, but if it helps, then yeah, fuck sororities."

"Fuck sororities!" Ymir exclaims.

"Oh, hey, Ymir!"

"Oh, shit," she hisses, whirling around. "Is that Historia?"

Reiner glances over his shoulder. "What? No. Wait, who is that?" 

Ymir squints at the figure jogging towards her, ponytail swinging wildly with every step. It's the girl from Beta Alpha Epsilon, the one who she soaked in pomegranate lemonade. She looks way too cheerful for this early in the morning.

"Oh, fuck, what's her name?" Ymir mutters as the girl approaches. "Reiner, what's her fucking name?"

"I don't know. Wait, do you know someone I don't? Ymir, you did make friends! See? I told you!"

Ymir kicks him. "Shut the fuck up- hey, you! Hi!" 

The girl stops just before them, grinning, her bag slung over one shoulder. She takes a breath, then brushes her bangs out of her face.

"It's Sasha," she says.

Ymir points at her. "I totally knew that."

"No, it's okay," Sasha says, waving her hand. "Recruitment's a madhouse, I wouldn't expect you to remember." 

"Hi, Sasha," Reiner says, holding out his hand. "I'm Ymir's only friend."

Ymir smacks him away. "Ignore him."

"I'm glad I found you," Sasha says, smiling up at Ymir. "We were going to reach out to you soon, but I thought it would be better to talk in person."

Ymir blinks at her. "Uh... okay."

"We know that you didn't receive a bid on Sunday," she says, and, like, way to pour salt on an open wound. "And we're sorry that you weren't able to accept our invitation, but-"

"Wait, sorry," Ymir says, furrowing her brow. "But I thought that you didn't guys invite me back. I mean, you didn't give me a bid."

"We did, actually," Sasha says.

Ymir stares at her. "So... I'm confused."

“It’s all about mutual selection,” Sasha explains. “We decide who to invite back, but the other end, all of the girls are ranking us too. If we give each other the same rank, then she’ll probably come back to our house. But if she ranks us lower than we rank her, then she won’t make our list, no matter how much we want her.”

“Oh,” Ymir says. She pauses. “I guess I ranked you guys pretty low.” 

“Look, we’re not offended or anything,” Sasha says, holding up her hands. “We know that recruitment can be kind of superficial. We have a quota for how many bids we can hand out, so even if we rank someone high, they don’t always make the final cut. That’s just how the process works.” 

Ymir swirls her coffee cup, lips pursed. "Okay, well, thanks for giving me a chance, I guess. Sorry I fucked it up."

"That's why I wanted to talk to you," Sasha says quickly. "We're still interested."

"...what?"

"We gave out bids to meet our full quota for new members, but not all of them accepted. So we have a few open bids, and..."

She trails off, shrugging. "If you're interested, then we'd like to offer one to you."

"...sorry,  _what?_ "

"We've giving you a bid," Sasha says.

Ymir stares at her. "But recruitment's over."

"It's called a snap bid," Reiner hisses, latching onto her arm.

Ymir jumps. "God, you're still here!?"

"You were the next person on our list," Sasha says, smiling. "We want you in Beta."

"Uh," Ymir says, glancing back to her. "Wow, uhh, okay, wow."

"Ymir," Reiner hisses. "You have to take this."

"Get off me!" She glances at Sasha. "Sorry, he's an idiot."

"No, listen," Reiner says, eyes wide. "Take it.  _Take it_."

Sasha glances between them. "I can give you a few days to think about it, but-"

"She'll take it," Reiner exclaims.

"Okay, hold on," Ymir snaps, grabbing him by the shoulder. "Will you excuse us for a minute, Sasha?"

"...sure?"

Ymir drags Reiner around the corner of the coffee shop- no she doesn't, he's fucking stacked, but he follows her- and glares at him.

"What the hell?" she hisses. "This shit is over!"

"It doesn't have to be," Reiner exclaims, throwing out his hands. "You just had a second chance handed to you!"

"How would joining a different sorority help me?" Ymir exclaims. "Wouldn't that make Historia hate me?"

"No, it's perfect!"

"I don't see how!"

"You're not thinking strategically," Reiner says.

He plants his hands on Ymir's shoulders and looks straight into her eyes. "Listen. Historia is Zeta Chi's vice president of panhellenic affairs."

Ymir furrows her brow. "Of  _what_?"

"Panhellenic," Reiner enunciates. "It's, like, inter-sorority stuff."

"...like dating other sorority girls."

"No, like planning social events and stuff, but yeah, for your purposes, sure."

"Does that help me at all?"

"If you can get inside Beta," Reiner says, "then you can get involved with panhellenic stuff, and you'll probably get to see her a lot! Or at least end up at events that she's running, and then you can, you know, sidle up to her and compliment her event planning skills. Isn't that why you were trying to join Zeta in the first place, to spend time with her?"

"I was thinking of it more like, she's way cooler than I could ever be, so the only way I can possibly measure up is to join her secret society, but yeah, proximity is part of that."

"Then this is perfect," Reiner gasps. "You join Beta, you do all the panhellenic stuff, then boom, you suddenly see Historia everywhere, she falls in love with you."

"Okay, first," Ymir says, wrestling his hands from her shoulders. "We're not standing like this anymore. Second, I'm not actually joining, okay, that's still part of the plan. I'm not swearing a lifetime oath to this shit, I'm just co-opting for love purposes."

"Sure," Reiner says, backing off. "Now, do I think a supportive sisterhood would be good for you? Yes, but do I expect you to put up with all the weird cult stuff? Yes, because I think a supportive sisterhood would be good for you."

"Oh my god," Ymir exclaims. "Dude, I'm only going to do this if you follow the fucking plan. You have already led me astray once."

"To be fair, I still got you to this point."

"Whatever," Ymir hisses. She gives him a hard look. "Listen, I'm only doing this again if you swear I can pull it off."

Reiner smiles at her. "I know you can."

That is the most confidence anyone has ever had in Ymir. 

"Okay," she says. "I guess I'm still in the running then." 

She takes a deep breath. This isn't over yet. She still has a chance.

"Sasha," Ymir exclaims, emerging from around the corner. "I accept your offer."

Sasha glances up from her phone and splits into a grin. "Really?"

"I- yeah. It's, like, a real offer, isn't it?"

"Yes, of course!" Sasha exclaims, fumbling in her bag for something. She pulls out a small card and hands it to Ymir with a smile. "Welcome to Beta Alpha Epsilon!"

Ymir snatches it up. "Sweet."

"Our next new member meeting is on Sunday," Sasha explains. "All the details are on there, so just show up a little early and we can get your official bid sorted out." 

"Great," Ymir says, glancing down at the card. "Yeah, I can totally, like, scoot out of rehearsal little early to make this."

"Okay, I've gotta run," Sasha says, tucking her bag over her shoulder. "But I'm so happy that you're going to join us, so, uh, I'll see you on Sunday!" 

She disappears down the sidewalk with a wave. Ymir turns back to Reiner, grinning.

"I'm back in the game!" she exclaims, proudly holding out her card. "I got a fucking invitation and everything!"

"I know," Reiner says. "This was my idea."

"Shut up. So, are we celebrating or what?"

"It's nine a.m."

"I mean, like, tonight, you asshole. This is definitely a worthy occasion."

"I have class tomorrow morning. You have class tomorrow morning. And I've already booked a practice room for tonight, so-"

"Ugh, never mind," Ymir mutters, tucking the card into her pocket. "We can celebrate later." 

**Text from Reiner**   
YMIR GOT A BID

**Text from Bertholdt**  
when did you add me back to this group chat??

**Text from Reiner**  
like a week ago  
YMIR GOT A BID

**Text from Bertholdt**  
i don't know what that means  
is this a sorority thing  
i thought that was over

**Text from Ymir**  
I GOT A BID  
IM A SORORITY GIRL NOW BITCH

**Text from Bertholdt**  
oh god

**Text from Reiner**  
be proud of our daughter

**Text from Bertholdt**  
no

**Bertholdt has left the group chat**

**Reiner has added Bertholdt to the group chat**

**Text from Ymir**  
BE PROUD OF ME

**Text from Bertholdt**  
did you even do anything?

**Text from Ymir**  
NO NOT REALLY

**Text from Reiner**  
shes going to win historias heart through the power of panhellenic love

**Text from Bertholdt**  
????

**Text from Ymir**  
I DONT KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS  
BUT IM READY TO GET NASTY

**Text from Bertholdt**  
this is a bad idea

**Text from Reiner**  
ur tearing this family apart 

**Text from Bertholdt**  
i guarantee this is going to blow up in your face

**Text from Ymir**  
THIS IS MY DREAM DAD NOT YOURS

**Text from Bertholdt**  
ok good talk

**Bertholdt has left the group chat**

**Text from Ymir**  
just like my real dad

**Text from Reiner**  
wow same

She’s buzzing all weekend. She did it, she did it, okay she didn’t do much of anything, but it all worked out in the end anyways. This is a sign. This has to be a sign. This is meant to be. _They_ are meant to be.

Maybe it’s not entirely what Ymir wanted. She’s accepted Reiner’s explanation at face value and she’s trying not to think about whether or not joining Beta is actually beneficial to her quest for Historia’s heart. There’s a chance that Reiner is full of bullshit. But she’s been given a second chance. She has to take full advantage of it. 

So, it’s Beta Alpha Epsilon now. There’s still a few more days until the new member meeting on Sunday, but between rehearsals and the reluctant practices that she has scheduled for herself, it’s not going to be long before she becomes official. She better learn something about Beta Alpha Epsilon before then-

“Oh, fuck,” Ymir mutters to herself that night, staring at Beta’s Wikipedia page on her laptop. “Do they call themselves baes?” 

Whatever, she can live with a dumb nickname if it gets her closer to Historia. And it better get her closer to Historia, or Reiner is going to have hell to pay. Luckily, the university’s Greek life page has a calendar of events and it’s completely packed with intramural games, social gatherings, and philanthropy fundraisers. Sweet. At least there will be plenty of opportunities for panhellenic fraternization. 

The weekend comes, and Ymir spends most of it in and out of Saber Hall, first for a symphonic dress rehearsal (a week ahead, really, like Dr. Mikkelsen doesn’t trust them that much) and then for extra wind quartet practice (not actually mandated by their professor, just by the hardass oboist who insists they run through their full concert set on Saturday morning. As predicted, Sunday rolls around much faster than Ymir expected and by seven p.m. that night, she’s stumbling down sorority row, looking for the right house. 

It’s weird being here now, separate from the crowds of recruitment. It’s weird being back here at all, on this quiet little corner of campus that she thought she would never see again. She makes her way down the block and ends up on the porch of the Beta house. It’s still early; Sasha told her to show up before the minute to officially sign her bid. Still, she hesitates on the front steps for a moment, staring up at the golden letters above the door. 

She made sure to look up the rules. She can drop out before the official initiation and not face any real consequences, other than maybe a few hurt feelings. That’s only about two months away. So this has to work. 

The door flings open almost as soon as Ymir knocks, and Sasha is standing on the other side in pajamas, her hair thrown up in a messy ponytail.

“You’re here!” she exclaims. “Sorry, I saw you outside from the window upstairs.”

“You almost beat me to it,” Ymir says as Sasha beckons her over the threshold. “Uh, is anyone else here yet?”

“No, the other new members are coming in a bit,” Sasha says as she lets the door slam. “But some of the sisters are hanging out in the common room, so I can introduce you if you want!”

Her sweatshirt is covered in paint, Ymir notices, although she has done her best to scrub it out of her hands. Not a perfect attempt, but a valid attempt nonetheless. 

“Uh, don’t we have to do my bid and stuff?” Ymir asks, following her down the hall.

“No, no, that won’t take that long,” Sasha says. “It’s literally just, like, your signature.” 

She leads Ymir into a dimly-lit room lined with bookshelves and long tables. A small white card sits at the end of one table, and Sasha hands her a pen to sign her name at the bottom. It’s quite unceremonious, given the highly elaborate rituals that Ymir had to endure during recruitment, but she manages to give a flourish to her signature to make it feel a little more fancy.

“Congratulations,” Sasha exclaims when Ymir sets the pen down. “You’re officially a new member!” 

Sweet. One step closer.

“So, first lesson,” Sasha says as she packages the card into a thick white envelope. “You’re going to hear this again tonight, because we go over the officer structure with all the new members, but since you’re here now, I’ll just explain it. 

“I’m the new member coordinator,” she says, proudly setting a hand over her heart. “So I’ll be running all the new member meetings and whatever. You’re probably gonna see a lot of Annie and Mikasa in the first month too- have you met them?”

“I know Annie,” Ymir says, which is technically not a lie, because she does remember Annie’s scrunchy face from symphonic rehearsal the day before, although she’s not sure they’ve ever actually exchanged a word. “We’re both in the music school.” 

“Oh, right, you’re a music major,” Sasha says. She drops the envelope into a small file box with a collection of other envelopes. “That’s so cool. I always wanted to play violin, but I’m mostly deaf, so that was a no go. I mean, some people can do it, but I had zero discipline as a kid.”

She flips her hair out of the way just enough for Ymir to see a pair of hot pink hearing aids. 

“Don’t let my great conversation skills fool you,” she says. “I’m wearing these bad boys.”

“Not to knock your style or anything,” Ymir says. “But those are fucking ugly.”

Sasha lets her hair fall back down over her shoulders. “I didn’t have a lot of foresight when I was seventeen, okay? I’m due for a new pair, anyways.” 

“It’s just as well, because the violin sucks,” Ymir says as Sasha leads her back out the door. “And that statement won’t offend you because you’re an art major, as a wild guess.”

Sasha glances down at her paint-covered sweatshirt. “Shit, I was going to change out of this before the meeting.” 

She leads Ymir into the common room. It’s the same room where they held recruitment, but it looks vastly different now, and by different, she means like a normal living room. The gauzy drapes and stiff chairs have been removed and replaced with actual furniture, on which a few sisters lounge with familiarity, engrossed in homework or snack-binging or the football game on the TV. She follows Sasha to an arrangement of reading chairs in the corner of the room, where two Beta sisters sit, engaged in their laptops. Ymir recognizes one of them as the cold, distant bassist named Annie; the other, presumably, is Mikasa. 

“I tell myself I’m a painter,” Sasha says to Ymir as they sit down. “My professors disagree, but hopefully this is the year I can prove them wrong.”

“Fuck them,” Mikasa mutters without looking up from her computer. “You are a painter.”

Sasha beams. “Mikasa, have you met Ymir?” 

Ymir must have talked to a hundred girls during recruitment, a large number of them being Betas. She does not recognize Mikasa at all. 

“Sure we did,” Ymir says. “Hi again.”

“Hi,” Mikasa says. “Welcome to Beta.” 

“Mikasa is our vice president of finance,” Sasha explains, reaching for a bag of pretzels sitting on the coffee table. “She’ll be at the meeting tonight to go over some of the basics.” 

“Terrific,” Ymir says. She’d forgotten that this plan requires money. 

“Don’t worry,” Mikasa says, reaching across Ymir to grab a notepad full of graphing paper. “There’s a payment plan.”

“Thank God,” Ymir mutters, although her real burning question is whether or not she gets her money back if she drops before initiation. 

“And this is Annie,” Sasha says, gesturing to the blonde on her other side. “Oh, but I guess you guys already know each other.”

Annie glances up, and they make eye contact. 

“Don’t think so,” Annie says.

Ymir scoffs. “We’re in symphonic together.”

Annie glances back to her computer. “Hm.”

“I’m friends with Reiner and Bertholdt.”

“…huh.”

“You literally stand right behind those fucks.” 

“Sure,” Annie says, punching something on her keyboard. “If you say so.” 

“You guys are a real talkative bunch, huh?”

“Annie is our intramural chair,” Sasha says, hand deep in the pretzel bag. “So, if you ever want to join one of our sports teams, she’s the person to talk to.”

Ymir has never been less interested in anything in her life, but she nods anyways and says, “Totally.” 

Sasha glances at her phone, chewing on her lip. “Well, the other new members should be coming soon, so we should go ahead and set up in the study room. Oh, Ymir, here’s all your information.”

She produces a huge binder from beneath the coffee table and chucks it at Ymir, who barely catches it against her chest, wheezing. 

“Sorry, this is _what_?” Ymir gasps. 

“That’s just the new member information,” Sasha says. “We’re going to go over all of it during our new member meetings, so don’t get overwhelmed. You’ll learn everything in due time!”

Sweet God, Reiner wasn’t kidding. She’s really gonna have to study for this shit. 

The new members are exactly what Ymir expects (excitable freshmen, except for a handful of excitable sophomores) and the meeting is just as long and overwhelming as the binder promised it would be. She leaves the Beta house two hours later, desperately yearning for sleep, and stumbles down the sidewalk, binder tucked under her arm as she attempts to yell at Reiner via text while walking in the dark. 

It’s pure chance that Ymir glances up just then. She’s just trying to see where she’s going, but she looks up and finds Historia coming down the other side of the path, face turned down to a paper in her hands.

Ymir freezes on the sidewalk, nearly tripping over her own feet. She shouldn’t let Historia see her yet, not until they’re in some kind of controlled panhellenic setting where Ymir can guarantee the outcome. If she just keeps walking, then maybe Historia will keep her head down- nope, fuck, it’s too late.

“Oh, hey,” Ymir says cheerfully when Historia glances up. 

“Oh,” Historia says. “Hi.”

She stops just short of Ymir and gestures at her binder. “You ended up joining,” she says. “Good for you.”

“Yeah, I’m, uh, a Beta now, I guess,” Ymir says, glancing down at her binder. 

“Oh, that’s great,” Historia says with a smile. “I think you’ll really like it there.”

“Thanks,” Ymir says, definitely trying not to think about the insinuation that she wouldn’t have liked it in Zeta Chi.

“Oh, you know what?” Historia says suddenly. She pulls her phone out of the bosom of her dress (so that’s how girls with boobs do it- Ymir just shoves her phone in the waistband of her pants) and swipes across the screen, her face illuminated by the light. 

“Let me get your number,” she says. “Now that recruitment is over, we don’t have to follow the weird rules about talking to PNMs.” 

Ymir takes the phone that’s handed to her (tHiS pHoNe HaS tOuChEd HiStOrIa’S bOoBs) and quickly types in her number. Holy fuck, her plan is working. 

“Sorry, what was that?” Ymir asks. “That thing you just said that didn’t make any sense.”

“Oh, PNM,” Historia says, taking her phone back. “It’s short for potential new member. It’s what we call a girl going through recruitment.”

“And the weird rules?”

Historia sighs, tucking her phone away again. “There’s a lot of rules about how to treat PNMs, in case anyone perceives something as promising a bid. Recruitment’s a lot more competitive at other schools, so girls will do anything to get into the house they want…”

She trails off. “It’s not really a problem here, but we still have to follow the rules. Honestly, inter-sorority fighting is so pointless.”

“It totally is,” Ymir exclaims. “All sororities should get along and be very close friends!”

Historia smiles. “Well, congratulations on Beta! I guess I’ll see you around here now.”

“Yeah,” Ymir says, and she waves as Historia starts down the sidewalk, disappearing into the night. “Yeah, you totally will!”

Ymir’s phone buzzes just as she reaches her dorm. 

**Text from Unknown  
** Hi it’s Historia

**Text from Ymir  
** Hey

It’s happening, it’s really happening. Holy fuck, it’s really fucking happening. 

**Text from Ymir  
** YOU’LL NEVER FUCKING BELIEVE THIS  
SHE ASKED ME FOR NUMBER  
WE’RE TEXTING NOW

**Text from Bertholdt  
** omg because you’re magically cool now???

**Text from Ymir  
** YES  
wait  
what the fuck  
what’s wrong with u  
where’s reiner

**Text from Bertholdt  
** he’s practicing. his phone is off.

**Text from Ymir  
** GOD DAMN IT i need instant validation and he knows that 

**Text from Bertholdt  
** you should be practicing too

**Text from Ymir  
** u don’t know me or my story

**Text from Bertholdt  
** i’m just assuming based on your past behavior that you have not been putting in the due time for the symphonic concert

**Text from Ymir  
** well why the fuck aren’t u practicing  
ha check and mate

**Text from Bertholdt  
** i’m taking a water break

**Text from Ymir  
** u need a fucking water break??  
u play the cello

**Text from Bertholdt  
** maybe if you actually practiced then you would understand

**Text from Ymir  
** ok well i need to tell reiner about this so i’m just going to leave messages in the group chat for him to read later  
it was a warm autumn night when i ran into historia on the sidewalk

**Text from Bertholdt  
** god i can’t do this

**Bertholdt has left the group chat**

**Text from Ymir  
** COWARD


	6. stuck in my head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously on soul sisters: ymir joined beta alpha epsilon and finally (f i n a l l y) got historia's phone number. this week: ymir practices. ymir studies. ymir... makes a friend.

**Text from Ymir  
** and you should have seen the way she handed her phone to me okay  
it was like so seductive and magical  
and i typed my number in a really sexy way  
fuck i should have looked at her messages to see who she's talking to  
no thats really creepy  
its good i did not do that  
anyways she was like "congratulations" which was so hot  
i just cant believe u were right??  
i thought u were a fucking idiot for telling me to join a different sorority  
but she went on about how competition is stupid and we should all just get along  
so this plan might actually be better??  
and so then she like took the time to explain things to my dumb ass

**Text from Reiner  
** oh my god 

**Text from Ymir  
** holy shit  
i got a "god" out of you??  
i'm telling ur mom

**Text from Reiner  
** the lord works in mysterious ways and one of those ways is you sending me 200 messages in less than 30 minutes  
are your hands okay 

**Text from Ymir  
** fuck u im happy for once in my god damn life  
and no my hands are numb  

**Text from Reiner  
** im happy for u  
but im going to bed 

**Text from Ymir  
** read my fucking messages u coward   
reiner  
REINER  
WAKE UP AND ANSWER ME  
god damn cant believe i have friends who go to bed before midnight  
what am i, a grandma

She thought Reiner, of all people, would be overjoyed by her fraternization with Historia. He’s spent the most time listening to her scream about this stupid plan, so she thought he’d take a break from practicing to at least acknowledge her message.

What the hell is he practicing for anyways?

Oh, fuck, the symphonic concert.

She still has a week to practice. And it’s not like she’s that bad. She’s still good enough to be in the music school, and she was good enough three years ago to be admitted. She’s not going to fuck up one concert so badly that she dishonors the memory of Edgar J. Saber, or whoever the fuck founded this school. But Dr. Mikkelsen has it out for her this semester, and if she doesn’t show up on Saturday night as the best possible version of her bassoonist self, then she’ll have hell to pay.

Ymir has a brief moment of relief when she finds out that Dr. Mikkelsen has cancelled this week’s junior recital meetings. 

**Mikkelsen, M.**     
to _Junior Recital Listserv_

Recital meetings cancelled. Use this free time to practice. I expect to hear twice the improvement when we meet again next week. 

Reminder that any final changes to your program must be approved by myself and your advisor by next Friday at the absolute latest. 

_ \--  _ M

Then the terror hits her. 

Free time? What fucking free time? Her junior recital consultation takes less than an hour every week, and that little sliver of freedom has already been commandeered by yet another symphonic dress rehearsal. She’s got less free time than she did before, no thanks to Dr. M. Not to mention, the absurd amount of sorority events that she grudgingly agrees to attend. Between all this extra bullshit, Ymir barely has time to wallow alone in her room. When will she be able to prioritize the important things? 

Okay, so not all of the Beta events are mandatory, but attendance is definitely encouraged. Ymir skips the ice cream social on Monday to bang out a music history essay and blow some frustrated notes on the bassoon before retiring to watch Planet Earth alone. She’s got a dozen more chances to earn brownie points with Beta. There’s a new member movie night, an evening of bonding at the bowling alley, an open invitation to air grievances at the chapter standards board meeting…

Ymir might have to make time for that last one. She loves a good cup of tea. 

But the rest of those things? If they’re not marked  _p_ _anhellenic_ , then she’s not going. She can put up with the mandatory new member education meetings, but only to maintain her front. She doesn’t have time to fuck around with Betas at the bowling alley. Like, literally, she’s booked solid this week. 

That means she won’t be seeing Historia anytime soon either. Ymir is reluctantly okay with that as long as she will be seeing Historia eventually, and once she gets a full semester calendar for Greek life, she’s relieved to see that panhellenic events will make an appearance in her life eventually. There’s a guest lecture on anti-hazing that’s required for all Greek chapters, a few philanthropy events here and there, and a panhellenic tea party just before Thanksgiving. Okay, well, whatever that is, Historia must be involved in it so Ymir will be there. 

Ymir only gets away with this for a few days. 

She manages to drag herself up to the practice rooms in Saber Hall after Thursday evening’s dress rehearsal for the symphonic concert, which was naturally preceded by a failed pop quiz in her anthropology class (the one time she actually shows up, like honestly) and a bracing wind quartet rehearsal (a flutist nearly gets punched). So, it’s already been a fantastic day, and then she has to make good use of the two hours she booked in a practice room. 

She’s barely sat down with her bassoon when her phone begins buzzing incessantly. 

**You have been added to Beta Alpha Epsilon**

**Text from Sasha  
** Welcome to all new members! sorry it took so long to add you.  
Reminders:  
1\. movie night in 10 minutes in the common room! new members, your cards don’t work yet so just ring the doorbell and someone will let you in.   
2\. Britta has organized a study session on saturday, so if you need to get some work done, the study room will be a reserved quiet space all day.  
3\. new member meeting on sunday at 7:30 as usual!   
all of this info is in hedy’s chapter bulletin from earlier in the week, but I wanted to highlight some things for the new members since this is what’s relevant for you guys.  let me know if you have any questions! 

**Text from Ymir**     
what is this

**Text from Sasha**     
it’s the beta group chat!

**Text from Ymir**  
no thanks

**Text from Sasha**     
sorry not a choice.  we send reminders and important info

**Text from Signe**     
dem’s the rules

**Text from Hedy**     
[jpg of purple book titled “Da Rules”]

**Text from Paloma**     
welcome to all new beta sisters!

**Text from Audra**     
So nice to finally have everyone in the chat!!!!!

**Text from Jordan**     
Ah thanks! So happy to be a BAE!

**Text from Ana**     
can’t wait for the movie night with my new sisters!! 

**Text from Ymir**     
oh my god 

Okay, that’s some nonsense that she’ll have to figure out how to mute. She’s just switching her phone to silent when another series of texts buzzes in, this time just from Sasha.

**Text from Sasha**    
hey ymir!    
are you coming to movie night?

**Text from Ymir**  
don't think so, sorry

**Text from Sasha**  
we're watching the new mamma mia! have you seen it?

**Text from Ymir**     
don’t think so

**Text from Sasha**     
well do you want to see it

**Text from Ymir**     
i’m practicing

**Text from Sasha**    
wow really?    
it’s like 10 pm

**Text from Ymir**     
that's music school life, man

**Text from Sasha**     
well think about coming to the study sesh on saturday! it’s informal but I personally will be dying over an anthro 101 paper so you are welcome to join me

**Text from Ymir**     
wait is it that review of the ethnography article

**Text from Sasha**    
yes???   
are you in my anthro class??? i’ve never seen you in there

**Text from Ymir**    
yeah i never show up   
except for the quiz today that i failed   
but i don’t think i saw you there?

**Text from Sasha**    
oh god there was a quiz???   
i swear i don’t normally skip class

**Text from Ymir**     
sure

**Text from Sasha**     
i was finishing a piece for junior portfolio review!! sean was up my ass about it

**Text from Ymir**     
who the fuck is sean

**Text from Sasha**     
that’s my painting professor

**Text from Ymir**     
you call him sean??

**Text from Sasha**    
that’s what he tells us to call him    
he smokes weed in his office

**Text from Ymir**     
why arent any of my professors that cool

**Text from Sasha**     
anyways if you come to the study sesh on saturday we can work on the paper together!! 

**Text from Ymir**     
i have rehearsal before the concert but i’ll see what i can do

**Text from Sasha**     
are you guys ever not practicing?

**Text from Ymir**     
no

**Text from Sasha**     
well good luck at your concert! 

**Text from Ymir**     
thanks 

To her credit, she manages to occupy her entire two hour practice slot until an oboist comes banging on the door and demanding the room. The practice isn’t so bad once she gets into the swing of it, but it’s a reminder of how hard she should have been working for these last few years. She’s not  _bad_ , she knows that, just rusty; but it’s still not a great morale boost to her the tiny squeaks and off key hums in her playing.

Ymir resigns herself to the commitment of a regular practice schedule, the way she played in high school (mostly so her mom would just leave her alone), the way she should have been practicing since she came to college. She’s spent so much time chasing after Historia in these last few weeks, so the least she can do is actually practice now that her love scheme is secure with a bid from Beta. She’s surprised to find her name already scrawled on the practice room calendar. 

“It was you,” Ymir exclaims the next morning, kicking Reiner’s cello case so hard that it slams shut. “How dare you try to make me a better student behind my back?”

He gasps and winces for two minutes before he can answer. 

“Your cello’s not even in there,” Ymir says.

Reiner clutches the cello that sits between his knees. “It could have been! I would not have hesitated to murder you if you’d hurt him.” 

“Okay, you’re a freak,” Ymir mutters. She points a dramatic finger at him. “Now, how dare you!” 

The symphony orchestra has gathered in all its glory on Saturday morning for one last rehearsal, only to discover that the stage in the concert hall hasn’t been broken down from last night’s jazz band performance. They’ve just finished recreating their orchestra seating arrangement, the outer rim of the chairs scattered with instrument cases and spare boxes of reeds, and Dr. Mikkelsen has been spotted in the hallway, so students are scrambling to squeeze in a few last desperate bars of practice before he completely destroys them during rehearsal. Ymir can take comfort in the fact that no matter how bad she sounds, some freshman squealer in the back row will always sound worse. 

“What are you talking about?” Reiner asks, glancing up at her. “I’d only try to make you a better student to your face.” 

Bertholdt sits beside him, brow furrowed as he flips through their sheet music. Ymir frowns. 

“It has to be you,” she says. “No one else gives that much of a shit.”

“What are you  _talking_ about?”

“Someone signed me up for regular practice slots,” Ymir exclaims, clutching her bassoon to her chest. “I was actually going to be productive and do it myself, but someone got to it before me.”

Bertholdt glances at her. “Are you sure you didn’t do it and forget about it?”

“I’m not that stupid,” Ymir scoffs.

Reiner lets out a low  _oooh_. “You know what? It was probably Dr. M.”

Ymir balks at the idea. “No. God, no. That’s definitely a bad sign. Wait, how do you know?”

“Well, I was hanging out in his office the other day and-”

“Sorry,  _what_?”

“I told you,” Reiner exclaims, stroking rosin onto his bow. “He’s cool now. I was talking to him the other day about accompaniment for your recital, and he asked me how much I think you actually practice, and I said-”

“ _Reiner, no_.”

“I did stretch the truth a little,” Reiner says. “But I couldn’t  _lie_. He definitely went and reserved practice time for you after that. You’ll probably get a talking-to after rehearsal today.”

The practice hall door swings open, announcing the presence of their conductor, and Ymir begrudgingly finds her seat, plopped down right in the center of the orchestra where she can look Dr. Mikkelsen square in the face and physically project evil spells onto him. She is pretty sure that she actually plays better during the rehearsal when she is channeling a dark energy, although Zeke keeps staring at her between movements. It’s possible that she’s making some weird faces. 

All in all, it’s not the worst rehearsal Ymir’s ever been to. She actually feels good about herself afterwards, and there’s a lighter energy in the air when they finally finish the last movement, knowing that soon the concert will be over. 

Dr. Mikkelsen dismisses the rehearsal, then stares straight into the orchestra and makes eye contact with Ymir. 

She tries very hard to pretend that didn’t just happen.

“Ymir,” he barks. 

She weaves her way through the flutists snapping their cases shut, right past Zeke’s irritating face, and up to the conductor’s stand. 

Dr. Mikkelsen shuffles his sheet music. “Are you making any changes to your recital program?”

“Not planning on it.”

“Good,” he says. “Then there is no excuse not to practice diligently. I reserved a practice room for you everyday this week.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I expect to hear considerable improvement the next time we meet. You had a flat note in the second movement today that still hasn’t left my ears.”

“Right, I get it,” Ymir says. “I should go practice before tonight.”

He closes his sheet music folder. “No.”

She blinks at him.

“Take the weekend off,” he says, staring at her. “Remove yourself from your music, and return to it on Monday.”

From behind Dr. Mikkelsen, Ymir can see Reiner incredulously mouthing “take the weekend off?!”

“Uh, okay,” Ymir says. “I mean, I’m not going to question that.”

“You will strain yourself if you don’t find balance,” Dr. Mikkelsen says. He picks up his folder and baton, and he turns on his heel, glancing down at his watch. “And balance is what you should be striving to achieve.”

He says nothing else, just gives her a nod, and then heads for the door, Zeke picking up at his heel to follow him, violin case strung carefully over his shoulder. The practice hall begins to empty out after they leave, and Ymir finds her way back to her stand and tucks her bassoon away before acknowledging Reiner stage-whispering her name across the orchestra.

“You just got a direct blessing not to practice for an entire weekend,” he exclaims when she finally works her way over to the cello section. “How does it feel?”

“It’s not like I have the whole weekend off,” Ymir mutters. “We have a concert tonight.”

“Well, sure,” Reiner says, bending to lurch his cello case upright. “But now you can come with us to study for the music history test instead of locking yourself in Saber all day?”

“When the fuck do we have a music history test?” 

On Reiner’s other side, Bertholdt is carefully snapping the locks on his cello case. “It’s on Friday. Do you pay attention in any class?”

“It’s on Friday and you’re already studying for it?” Ymir scoffs. 

“I don’t have time this week,” Reiner says as he heaves his cello case onto his back, tugging the straps tight across his shoulders. “Dr. Mikkelsen suggested some light changes to my recital program, so I have to rework all of that by the end of next week.”

Bertholdt snorts. “That is not his fault.”

“Okay, I redid my entire program and he agreed to the changes,” Reiner says, “but it’s not officially approved until my advisor hears it. So I need to practice.”

They meander towards the door, a comical trio lugging three heavy instruments across the room. Bertholdt wheels his cello case behind him, scrolling through his phone with his free hand, and Ymir throws her bassoon case over her shoulders, yawning. 

“Well, music history can kiss my ass,” she grumbles. “I can study for that on, like, Friday morning. I have an article review for anthropology due on Tuesday and I have no idea what the hell I’m doing.”

She steps through the door that Reiner is holding open specifically for Bertholdt, then furrows her brow. 

“Oh, I should go to that study thing,” she muses. “Maybe Sasha will just write it for me.”

“Sasha?” Reiner exclaims, letting the door fall shut after Bertholdt. “That Beta girl?”

“Yeah, she’s in my anthro class,” Ymir says. “She offered to work on it together, so that’s not, like, cheating, technically…”

“Wait, are you actually going to a sorority event?” Bertholdt asks, glancing up from his phone.

“I’ve only been in it for, like, a week, okay! And there’s no inter-sorority shit happening for a while, so I might as well get some homework help while I bide my time waiting for Historia.” 

“So, you’re not coming to the library?” Reiner asks. 

“Unless you know anything about ethnography.”

“...no.”

“Then no.” 

Ymir is normally reluctant to do any homework on a weekend (or, like, at all), but if she can get someone else to come up with at least half the ideas for this stupid anthropology paper, then she’ll take it. She grabs her laptop from her dorm room, then heads over to the Beta house and hopes that Sasha has been taking notes in class, because honestly Ymir has only been to, like, two lectures and has always sat in the very back and never paid attention. She just needs this damn writing credit. 

She finds the study room at the back of the Beta house, the same place where Sasha took her to sign her bid. It’s still early in the day, but the long tables in the room are nearly filled with girls working quietly: some typing on laptops, others tapping their pens against the desk as they contemplate equations. Someone has commandeered the white board for a complicated science thing that Ymir cannot hope to understand. 

Sasha waves to her from the table near the window.

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to come,” she exclaims as Ymir approaches. 

She has notebooks spread across the keyboard of her laptop, a pen in hand, and her hair thrown up in a half-done ponytail. Mikasa sits on her left side, intently engaged in an array of textbooks.

“That’s what she said,” Ymir says. 

Someone across the quiet room shushes them. 

“Geez,” Ymir mutters as she slides into the seat across from Sasha. “I know this is a quiet space or whatever, but it’s like a funeral in here.”

“There’s a big calculus test next week,” Sasha says, glancing down at her laptop. “Or so I’ve been told.” 

“Studying is serious,” Mikasa says without looking up.

Ymir nods at her. “What are you studying?”

Mikasa sighs. “Orgo.”

Ymir stares at her. “Cool, I know what that is.”

“It’s chemistry or something,” Sasha says. She shifts her notebooks around, looking for something. “Okay, have you started this paper at all?”

“I haven’t even read the article.”

“Good, me neither.” 

She definitely does not finish her paper by the time she has to leave (there’s a whole pre-concert lunch and nap routine that she does, mostly as an excuse to nap), but at least she begins to understand what the paper is supposed to be about. Mikasa ends up being more helpful in article interpretation than either Ymir or Sasha, and when one p.m. strikes, Ymir has a decent first few paragraphs. Like, it’s still garbage, but at least she started it more than 24 hours before the due date. 

“Are you coming to the homecoming festival next weekend?” Sasha asks as Ymir’s packing her bag. 

“Uh, football’s not really my thing,” Ymir says. “Never been to a single game.”

“No, I mean the festival,” Sasha says, closing her laptop. “There’s a big festival at the tailgate before the game. There’s games and rides and food and beer and stuff.”

“There’s  _what?_ ” 

“You’ve seriously never been?” Sasha asks. “It’s the best event all year.”

“It’s not that great,” Mikasa mutters, scratching something into her notebook.

“It’s fun,” Sasha insists. “And there’ll be a lot of Beta alumnae there. They’re always so excited to meet the new sisters.”

“Uh, thanks but I probably have rehearsal or something,” Ymir says, which is not strictly true but not necessarily untrue either. The wind quartet concert is on Sunday afternoon, but who knows, maybe they’ll need to have a rehearsal that will take up the whole weekend and leave her completely unavailable, except if Historia texts her out of the blue.

“If you volunteer at the panhellenic booth,” Sasha says, “you get free ride tickets.”

Ymir stops halfway through zipping her backpack. “The  _what_  booth?”

“Panhellenic always has a booth. It’s just fun for the alumnae to come by and see how things are.”

“So, who, uh,” Ymir says. She sets her hands on the table and leans in. “Who runs the booth?”

“Just the volunteers,” Sasha says, shrugging. “But a lot of people stop by and hang out.”

“People from other chapters?”

“Yeah, usually.”

Ymir smiles. “You know what? That sounds great. Sign me up.”

“Neat,” Sasha exclaims. “ I’ll put your name on the list!” 

She’s halfway to Saber in her concert blacks when she realizes that she might have signed up to spend her entire Saturday sitting at a hot booth with annoying people. But if it’s a chance to see Historia again, then Ymir is going to take it. 

They warm up in the green room, tuning their instruments and fitting in some last minute practice. Ymir plays her way through the same four bars over and over, the one place in the last movement where Dr. Mikkelsen always glares directly at her, until Bertholdt threatens to kick her bassoon out of her hands. A freshman throws up in the bathroom because her parents are in the audience. Someone takes names for a post-concert trip to IHOP. 

All in all, it’s a typical concert night. 

Ymir feels good once they get on stage. It’s been so long since she’s performed, she’d nearly forgotten how it felt to be under the bright lights. Most of the symphony, or at least the upperclassmen, spent the summer playing together on tour in Europe, rehearsing together everyday, and though Ymir knows she missed out on that opportunity, she can’t feel the difference tonight. She knows these pieces backwards, and for what it’s worth, she did practice a little bit. Maybe not nearly as much as Zeke, who takes fucking forever to tune the orchestra, because apparently they’re all doing something wrong and only he can hear, but she did practice. 

Once they begin playing, she remembers why she’s in music school at all. 

Oh, yeah, that’s right. She loves the god damn bassoon. 

They finish the final movement with a flourish and receive a standing ovation for their bows. Most of the audience are friends and family of the students, so it’s not much, but it’s always nice to be cheered for. Ymir gives one last bow, just for herself. Then the lights go off, and they shuffle backstage. 

“Hey, good job,” Marcel exclaims when she threads her way through to the cellos. “You played really well!”

“You couldn’t even hear me,” Ymir says. “It’s not like I had an actual fucking part.” 

“Didn’t you feel good about the concert?”

“Sure,” Ymir exclaims. “I sure did, Marcel.” 

She spies Bertholdt’s head above the crowd, already disappearing into the green room, then pushes past Marcel and Porco to find Reiner, who greets her with a wave of his bow. 

“Brunch tomorrow?” he asks. “Or do you have a sorority brunch to go to?”

“I’m not going to a fucking sorority brunch,” Ymir grumbles. “I’d have to wear a fancy hat or something.”

“That would be, like, real brunch though. I bet they have endless mimosas.” 

“Okay, well, you can start a real brunch with Gamma Alpha Buttsex, or whatever fraternity you’re in-”

“Gamma Alpha  _Upsilon_.”

“-and I will be at Tom’s tomorrow, getting that 4.99 special.” 

The rest of her weekend is nice. Like, it’s  _nice_ , which is a weird word to describe anything in Ymir’s life, but it’s that simple. They’re all tired at brunch on Sunday morning, but she sits back and listens to Reiner and Bertholdt make snide comments about chamber orchestra for two hours. 

Then it’s time for a nap, a brief glance through her music history notes, and a new member meeting at the Beta house. Their education continues this week with a lesson on Beta’s traditional symbols, and an official invitation to join the rest of the sisters for the usual chapter meeting next week. They’re not quite fully-fledged sisters yet (actually, there’s still a long way to go on that front, but it gives Ymir time to get out of Dodge before things get too serious), but they’re starting to get the hang of this sorority stuff. Personally, Ymir is excited for the gossip opportunities that the weekly chapter meetings will provide. 

It’s nice, and she remembers why when she sits down for an hour of practice on Monday morning. Dr. Mikkelsen didn’t give her that much of a break, but maybe he was right, in a way; she didn’t overwork herself after the concert, and though she’s got a lot of rehearsal to do before the wind quartet concert next Sunday, she’s grateful for the time off. Especially because it was officially sanctioned and not just, like, her ignoring her responsibilities. 

Dr. Mikkelsen still completely tears her apart during her recital consultation, but at least she feels better about herself this time. Like, she doesn’t leave with a sudden urge to drop out of school, so that’s an improvement. 

She continues to get a flood of texts and emails from Beta Alpha Epsilon, sending out reminders, announcements, and invites for social events. It seems like it’s a great sorority for anyone who’s actually into that kind of shit, given the sheer number of movie nights and study sessions that they have, but Ymir has already signed up for a two-hour shift at the panhellenic homecoming booth, so she’s just about maxed out on her sisterhood social time for the week. Besides, she has to practice for the wind quartet concert. It’s a matinee concert for the old folks in town who come after church, but this time she’ll be only one of four onstage, so it’s, like, pretty important for her to not fuck up.

It’s not like she’s planning on fucking up, and in her opinion, she’s pretty much got her part covered. The main problem is pretending that she likes the flutist and the clarinetist she’s playing with, at least enough to make good music. The oboist is fine. 

She’s relieved to make it through the week. She survives her anthropology paper (okay, well, she hands it in and hopes for the best, but at least she actually fucking did it) and manages to pass her music history test on Friday. 

It’s high noon on Saturday when Ymir shows up for her shift at the panhellenic booth, and she is already regretting many things about this experience. For one, it’s hot as fuck outside, even though it’s October. Second, while she was expecting a sizable crowd at the homecoming festival, she didn’t know it was going to be literally everyone and their mother, the festival ballooning over a green space that is nearly as big as the football stadium next to it. She has to weave herself through waves of people, run around in circles, get lost twice, and eventually steal someone’s festival map to find her way to the panhellenic booth. Sasha is already there, kicked back in her chair with a bag of popcorn, while two girls from Iota Xi rearrange the freebies on the table.

“Oh, there you are!” Sasha exclaims, waving at Ymir. “You get lost or something?” 

“Yes, I got lost,” Ymir says, scowling. “There’s like a million people here.”

“It’s always like this,” Sasha says. “I’m meeting up with Annie and Mikasa after this to walk around and do the rides and stuff. You wanna come?” 

Ymir plops down in the chair next to her, glad to be out of the sun. “Sure. Maybe I’ll run into someone I know.”

Sasha squints at her. “Uh, yeah, maybe.” 

Manning of the booth mostly involves sitting in the shade and eating kettle corn. They perk up every once in a while when someone comes by, but it’s usually an alumna who wants to introduce her daughter or a girl who got dropped during recruitment and wants to know why. Both situations are highly uncomfortable, so Ymir sits back and lets the Iota Xi girls do the talking. 

When their allotted time is up and the next two volunteers arrive (Zeta Chis, Ymir notices, although not that one she’s looking for), Sasha drags her through the festival, looking for the designated meeting place. Ymir tries to scan the crowd as they walk, but there’s an overwhelming number of people, not to mention, like, a weirdly high number of short blonde girls. Have there always been this many of them?

"They must be running late," Sasha says, checking her phone. "But we're here, so let's just wait for them."

Ymir raises an eyebrow. "A petting zoo? Really?"

"It's cute," Sasha exclaims, approaching a small enclosure. "Look, they have baby lambs!" 

“Isn’t a baby lamb just a lamb?” Ymir asks. 

“Fine, but it’s cuter to call it a baby lamb.”

The lambs are pretty cute, even if they smell a little funky, and Ymir pets one while they wait for Annie and Mikasa. Sasha launches into a lengthy and weirdly knowledgeable one-sided conversation about the breeding season of Merino wool sheep, and Ymir is stifling a yawn when she suddenly hears a familiar voice from the other side of the pen. 

“Oh, look, this one likes you!” 

Ymir glances up, interest piqued by the cute voice that sounds from just a few feet away. To her delight, there stands Historia in all her glory, a beautiful goddess in a Zeta Chi tee-shirt, crouching to pet the lamb that chews hay at her feet. Besides a few run-ins since the night of the bonfire, they haven’t gotten a chance to talk and Ymir hasn’t worked up the nerve to text her. But fate has led her here today, and she’s not going to screw up this chance.

“Historia!” she calls across the pen. “Hey!”

Historia glances up from the lamb, her golden hair falling over her shoulders. For a moment, her face is blank; then she smiles and stands upright. 

“Oh, hi,” she says as Ymir shuffles towards her through the hay. “Funny seeing you here.”

“Yeah, totally,” Ymir says. “I was volunteering at the panhellenic booth, you know, just serving my community and all of that.”

The lamb at Historia’s feet bleats frantically, and Ymir starts shoveling hay into its mouth.

“So, how are you?” she asks.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Historia says. She brushes a long strand of hair behind her ear. “This semester has, uh, been really busy, but homecoming is always a nice break.”

“Yeah,” Ymir says, even though she has never participated in homecoming festivities before. “Sure.”

“How are you liking Beta?” Historia asks.

“Oh, great,” Ymir says. “Yeah, totally great. I’m, uh, here with my sisters or whatever.”

She gestures across the pen to Sasha, who is intently watching this interaction with raised eyebrows- shit, Ymir forgot about Sasha, this is going to be weird- and then turns back to Historia. “It’s totally great.”

“Cool,” Historia says. “I’m glad.”

Silence falls between them. The homecoming festival carries on around them, full of crying lambs and cheerful music, and suddenly Ymir is sweating beneath her tee-shirt. She has to make a move, now with Historia here, but it’s too soon to ask her out. She hasn’t really seen Ymir yet. She should just figure out how to spend more time with her, and then maybe-

“Listen, Ymir,” Historia says abruptly, idly tearing at a piece of straw in her hands. “I want to clear the air about something.”

Ymir’s heart pounds. “Oh, okay. What?”

“We had fun at the party,” Historia says, glancing back up at her. “I liked talking to you.”

“Sure. Me too.”

Historia looks at her. “But I don’t want to lead you on. I mean, we had fun, but I’m really not looking for anything.”

“Oh,” Ymir says.

“I’m not in the right place for that,” Historia continues. “This semester has been so busy and there’s a lot going on in my life, so I just wanted to make sure that we were on the same page about this.”

Ymir swallows. “...yeah. Of course.”

Historia smiles. “Just to clear the air.”

“Yeah, just to clear the air,” Ymir repeats.

“We can be friends, of course, I just don’t want to-”

“No, I got it,” Ymir says. "Let's, uh... let's just be friends." 

The words are ringing in her ears when she finds her way back to Sasha, who stares at her with rapt interest, slowly chewing on the last of her kettle corn.

“What was that?” Sasha asks, eyes wide.

Ymir glances at her. “What? Nothing.”

“That wasn’t nothing,” Sasha says. “Did you just get dumped or something?”

Or something.

“I wish it was that simple,” Ymir grumbles.

Sasha crumples her empty popcorn bag, eyebrows raised. “So, what was it?”

Ymir glances over her shoulder. She catches a glimpse of Historia walking away, surrounded by a group of her Zeta Chi sisters. 

“I guess I did get dumped,” she says. “This whole time, I thought that if I just…”

She trails off. 

“Whatever,” she mutters. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter!” Sasha exclaims. She throws out an arm and links it through Ymir’s, startling her. “You can’t be sad at homecoming! Look, I see Annie and Mikasa. Let’s go drink some beer.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot they have beer here,” Ymir exclaims. 

“Yeah, I mean, I’m not 21, but no one’s checking. Plus, we can always find some dumb frat guys to pawn alcohol from. They hand out cans like candy.”

There is something empty lurking inside her, a feeling that she knows will find its way to the surface some time later. But not right now. She is always ready to scam boys out of booze, so she lets Sasha drag her through the festival on their way to forget their troubles.

Ymir does forget, at least for a while.

There is beer and cotton candy and sunshine. Even the football game is bearable, although Ymir protests to the spirited stripes that Mikasa paints across her face. Their team loses to an impossible touchdown in the last quarter, but they cheer anyways. 

She even agrees to go out that night. It’s not technically cool to take new members out to parties, Sasha explains under her breath, but, well, Ymir is already a junior, so it’s a little different. Besides, sisters are safer together when they go out. Ymir isn’t going to argue any of those points, because if there is one thing she won’t turn down, it’s free booze and the frat houses have a lot of it.

She is dragged back to the Beta house and persuaded (coerced) to put on a low-cut tank top, and then pulled into a gaggle of sorority girls who stumble outside on the cool night, making the long walk across campus to frat row. She would be shocked if she could see herself now, and she definitely raises an eyebrow when Annie and Mikasa meet them just outside the party.

“Wow,” Sasha exclaims. “It’s rare for even one of you to come out with us.”

“It’s homecoming,” is all Annie says. 

The fraternity house- Ymir has no idea which one, except that it’s not Gamma, because she would never let Reiner catch her at a frat party- is overflowing onto the lawn, the walls nearly shaking under the weight of the party. It’s the kind of scene that she would normally hate, the kind of party that she has never dared to go near, but Sasha promises to be her tour guide, and frankly, they’re just here to get blasted. 

It’s strange to be one of these people. 

Ymir has been to parties before where the sorority girls arrived in clusters, holding onto each other for dear life. It’s how Historia walked into the bonfire party. She’d always though it was stupid how attached they were, but it’s different being on the inside. This isn’t permanent, not for her; after all, if Historia’s not interested, then there’s no point in being here. She’ll drop out soon. But for tonight, at least, she can indulge herself.

She is one of the girls like she has never been before, and for tonight, at least, it’s freeing. 


	7. there is nothing i can't have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously on soul sisters: ymir was (not really, but kind of) dumped. this week: …an excuse to relive my floor hockey glory days?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last week facebook reminded me that it’s been two years since i joined my sorority (already two years? only two years?), so here is a sisterful chapter to celebrate that.

Reiner Braun is nothing if not persistent. 

Ymir wakes on the Sunday morning after homecoming with an incessant banging in her head. That makes sense, given the number of fireball shots she took the night before. Coupled with the minimal amount of water she consumed and the obnoxiously loud music being played at the party- well, yeah, it all makes sense. It was homecoming, after all. 

But when she comes to, groaning with her hands clutched to her forehead, the overhead fluorescent light of her dorm room blaring in her vision (how did she fall asleep with that blindness on??), she realizes that the pounding is not just from her headache.  _Someone_ is banging on her door. 

She stumbles upright, yells through the pain for the banging to  _shut up_ , and then slowly opens the door to be greeted by Reiner's neon yelling running jacket.

"Fuck," Ymir mutters.

She should have known, honestly. She doesn't know anyone else who has the energy to go out on Saturday night, then get up the next morning and work out for two hours before even having breakfast. Ymir trudges back into the comforting darkness of her room as Reiner follows, neon jacket and all. 

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Ymir mutters, rubbing her eyes.

She's still wearing her clothes from last night, she notices, although that's not too unusual, given that her Saturday nights are often drunk and lazy. It's just that last night involved a bunch of sorority girls insisting on smearing makeup on her face, and whoops, she just rubbed mascara all over her face. Cool. An infection is exactly what she wanted. 

"You weren't answering your phone," Reiner says, closing the door. "I've texted you, like, eight times this morning." 

"I was asleep," Ymir mumbles. She slumps down on the edge of her bed and yawns. "Nothing is this urgent, not even brunch, so you better have a good reason for being here."

"We're not going to brunch today," Reiner says as he mills about her room. He collects her phone, her keys, and a jacket from the back of her desk chair. "Tom's will have to do without us for one weekend. I hope Debbie doesn't miss us too much."

Ymir furrows her brow. "No brunch?"

"Nope."

"Where's Bertholdt?"

Reiner frowns at the jacket in his hands, puts it back, and heads to Ymir's closet. "Eh."

Ymir blinks. "What?"

"He's being kind of a bitch."

She rubs her eyes again, then swears at herself for doing that. "You guys better not be fighting or some shit."

"No, it's just..." He trails off. "Never mind."

“Because if you are, I don’t want to hear about it.”

Reiner pulls a jacket out of her closet- the terrible neon track jacket her mom bought her last Christmas in a vain attempt to incline her to athletic pursuits- and throws it at her. “Come on! Let’s get donuts.”

“I will die right now if I eat a donut.”

“Fine, I’ll have donuts. You can stick to coffee.”

“What happened to your diet?”

“Forget about that,” Reiner exclaims. “Sunday’s my cheat day.”

“I thought Saturday was your cheat day.”

“Pobody’s nerfect.”

"God, I can't believe we're friends," Ymir mutters, unrolling the neon blue jacket in her hands. "I'm not fucking wearing this. We'll look like we're matching." 

“I know, that’s why I picked it. Come on!”

“Ugh.”

The donut shop downtown is farther than Tom’s Diner, and Reiner fills the walk there with stories from chamber rehearsal, mostly the strings drama that Ymir is missing out on this year. She crosses her arms and tries to listen, her head still aching. Why the fuck are they up so early? They don’t even meet for brunch until midday anyways, but for some reason Reiner has dragged her out of bed at 8:30 in the fucking morning just to walk two miles downtown to get donuts. They pass two other bakeries on the way, but Reiner shakes his head and insists that they’re going to the good place.

It’s too early for Ymir, but even she has to admit that it’s a nice morning for a walk. The autumn has been warm this year, and the last week has seen temperatures to rival summer; but the cold has started to kick in. There’s a cool breeze meandering through the air, and the weather is so nice that Ymir grudgingly agrees to take a detour by the pond on their way back to campus.

“We’ve could driven here,” Ymir mutters when they finally leave the donut shop. She’s clutching a hot coffee (and a bear claw wrapped up for later), as Reiner tears apart his donut of choice (the seasonal pumpkin spice donut- it’s the worst thing she’s ever seen in her life). “Didn’t you drive to campus to bang on my door?”

“Sure,” Reiner says. “But the journey is half the fun.”

Silence falls between them on their walk around the pond. Ymir is trying very hard not to think about the day before; specifically, about what happened at the homecoming festival. It’s a totally soul-crushing revelation, to know that she has spent half the semester wasting her time, running around and chasing a fantasy, when it turns out it was all for nothing. She tempered some of her rage last night with her seventh shot of fireball (she’s not positive that she blacked out, but that’s the last thing she remembers before finding herself back in her dorm room), but she can feel herself spiraling now.

She knew, deep down, that she wasn’t worth Historia’s time, but there was a moment when she’d really thought that her plan would work. She just thought that if she tried hard enough-

It doesn’t matter now anyways. Reiner’s bound to ask about Historia soon, because she hasn’t given him an update in a while, and she needs to have something prepared to say.

A duck honks at them from the pond. Haven’t these fuckers gone south yet?

“So, how was the party?” Reiner asks.

Ymir glances at him, her coffee clutched close to her face. “What?”

“Weren’t you at the Delta party last night?”

Ymir lowers her coffee cup. “How the fuck do you know where I was? I didn’t post something stupid on Instagram, did I?”

“No, you just sent me, like, a hundred Snapchats.”

Ymir furrows her brow. “…what?”

“Yeah, you sent me a bunch of videos of you at the Delta party.”

She needs a drunk lock on her phone. She does stupid things when she’s drunk.

“Yeah, I was there,” Ymir says. She blows on her coffee. “I went with some of the Beta girls, because it was just right after the homecoming thing, so…”

“Do you want to talk about what happened at the homecoming festival?”

Ymir glares at him. “How the fuck do you know all of these things about me? I literally haven’t seen you in two days.”

Reiner reaches for his phone. “You also sent me about a hundred texts.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’m not totally sure what Historia said,” Reiner says, as he scrolls through his phone. “Most of your words are misspelled. Half of these messages are just random emojis.”

“Well, you get the gist, right? I wasted half my semester chasing her around because I was too stupid to see that she doesn't even like me." 

“Maybe she didn’t mean it like that,” Reiner says as he tucks his phone back into his pocket.

Ymir snorts. “No, she definitely did. She does not want to talk to me. I knew this was a stupid plan, right from the beginning, but I guess I just thought- whatever. She made it pretty clear that I should get lost.”

“Hm,” Reiner says.

“So,” Ymir sighs, “basically all this shit was for nothing. I mean, I know that I shouldn’t have expected this plan to work, because she’s, like, so out of my league, but you enabled me. And now I’m fucked. So I guess I’m just gonna pretend like it never happened, because that’s how adults solve their problems, and I’m gonna drop out of Beta and forget about it and soon it’ll just be a funny story from my wild college years.”

Reiner stays quiet for a moment as they stroll around the pound. When they come around the bend, he glances at her.

“I don’t think you should give up so easily,” he says.

Ymir rolls her eyes. “Dude, she verbally spat in my face.”

“I’m not talking about Historia,” Reiner says. “I mean, don’t give up on Beta.”

Ymir’s pace slows, and she glances at him, her brow furrowed. “What?”

“You don’t have to leave Beta just because your plan didn’t work out,” Reiner says. “You’re having fun, aren’t you?”

“Right, but it’s just a dumb sorority,” Ymir says. “I can have fun without paying for my friends.”

“Sure,” Reiner says. He shrugs. “But I think you’re getting more out of Beta than you’re willing to admit.”

Ymir takes a sip of her coffee, instantly burns her tongue, then turns to glare at him.

“I think it’s good for you,” Reiner says, rolling his empty paper bag into a ball.  “It’s good to get out of your comfort zone every once in a while, and Beta has definitely done that for you. You’ve been spending a lot of time with them lately.”

“You’re just trying to foist me off onto other friends,” Ymir exclaims.

“No,” Reiner says, shaking his head. “I’m trying to help you see what else is out there. They’re a good support system for you, and I just think, I don’t know, you should take your time left here to take some chances and try new things.”

Ymir slows down, and then she stops walking, paused in the middle of the gravel path. Reiner stops a few steps ahead of her and turns around, his face blank.

She squints at him. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re being weird.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re being all wistful and shit,” Ymir says. “Reiner, you’re too young to have a midlife crisis.”

“I’m just saying,” Reiner says, shrugging. “We’re halfway through college now, and what do we have to show for it?”

“I’m marginally better at the bassoon.”

“I’m being serious,” Reiner exclaims. “I’ll get my degree, and I know that I’ve learned a lot here, but where is all that going to take me? What do I really have?”

“You have Bertholdt,” Ymir says, gesturing at him with her coffee cup.

“But what does that mean?” Reiner exclaims.

Ymir lowers her cup. “What’s going on?”

Reiner hesitates for a moment. “Nothing.”

“This is about Bertholdt,” Ymir says. “This is all about Bertholdt.”

Reiner doesn’t respond for a moment, and suddenly Ymir’s heart is racing as she tries to remember how she fixed it the last time he and Bertholdt fought. She can’t remember. She doesn’t know if they’ve ever fought, not really, not seriously. There’s the occasional spat at the brunch table, but they always make up by the time Ymir slams her knife down and yells at them.

“It’s nothing, really,” Reiner says, shrugging again.

“Then why aren’t we at brunch?” Ymir exclaims. “What happened?”

“Nothing, really.”

“Stop fucking shrugging and tell me!”

“It’s nothing,” Reiner insists. “It’s just been a stressful semester.”

“Every semester is a stressful semester,” Ymir exclaims. “We’re fucking music students.”

“This one’s different,” Reiner exclaims. “It’s just- after the summer tour, I mean, things are just different now. And I’m first chair, and we’re living together for the first time, and-”

He cuts himself off with another shrug. “It’s really nothing. It’s been a long week with recital rehearsals and everything.”

Ymir waits for something else, but Reiner offers nothing, standing awkwardly with his hands in his pockets as the silence hangs between them. Ymir sighs with a huff.

“If you guys are seriously fighting,” she says, “you have to tell me so I can hedge my bets carefully to pick the winning team.”

Reiner smiles lightly. “I’ll keep you posted.”

She sighs in relief. “Good.”

They start the long walk back to campus, a cool breeze picking up against their backs as they stroll. Ymir wishes she was wearing something warmer than last night’s party outfit covered up with this stupid track jacket, but Reiner’s brisk pace keeps them warm as they trek back towards campus.

He says nothing else on the walk back, just keeps his hands tucked into his pockets. Ymir hopes that this conversation is over. Reiner and Bertholdt have been inseparable for as long as she’s known them, and longer than that, given the little she knows about their woeful Catholic upbringing. It’s certainly been a hard semester for her, although she knows that the worst is yet to come (here’s to you, junior recital!). She’s certainly not going to poke at this, and hopefully everything will resolve itself.

She can see Reiner’s car parked on the side of the road as they approach her dorm, right outside the fitness center. It seems so bare and alone on this cold Sunday morning, and suddenly Ymir wants nothing more than to run inside and wrap herself with blankets she’s forced to move.

“Just give it a chance,” Reiner says outside the door to her building. “They’re already growing on you, and I think you might regret dropping out now.”

The thing is (and she can tell that he knows just by the way he’s looking at her), the Beta sisters have grown on her. She’s never been one to make friends so quickly, or at all, so she wonders if it’s all just shallow; but they were the ones willing to give her a chance, no matter how weird and uninterested she acted during recruitment. Sasha and Annie and Mikasa were willing to take her under their wings and smother her with shots last night. Given the brief conversations she’s had with the other sisters, she knows that they’d be willing to do the same.

It’s just- Historia. She wouldn’t be in Beta if it wasn’t for that beautiful, heartbreaking girl, and she doesn’t know if she can stay in it now without thinking about her.

“Okay,” Ymir sighs, fumbling for her keys. “I’ll stay until initiation, but only because you asked so nicely.”

Reiner smiles when he leaves (despite how viciously she refuses his celebratory hug). Ymir stands at the door for a long time, watching as his car disappears down the road, something strange and unsettling building in her stomach. She can’t place it exactly, but maybe it’s just the weather. It looks like it’s going to rain.

That is how Sunday afternoon finds her, trudging to the Beta house through a sudden downpour, her new member binder secured tightly beneath her jacket. She’s pretty sure Sasha would kill her if she lost it, although it’s a bit generous to think that Ymir has actually absorbed any of the information from of the new member meetings. She looks like a fool with an enormous book for a chest, but her binder is safe when she finally makes it inside. Beta’s new members are partaking in their first regular chapter meeting this week, and Ymir finds the other pledges lingering outside the chapter room door, waiting for the cue to enter.

“They’re taking care of some private chapter business first,” Sasha explains in low tones to the nervous new members. “Then we’ll go in and you guys’ll hear everything else.”

Ymir has dressed up per the professional guidelines that were emailed out to all new members approximately three times last week, lest they forget (at least one girl did- and she was dragged upstairs to borrow something businessy from an older sister’s closet). Some of the girls have really gone all out on the business dress code, with heels and blazers, but Ymir feels pretty confident in her concert blacks (literally the only nice clothes she owns, okay, so she’s going to put them to good use). Sasha has been their guiding light throughout new member orientation, and she definitely just threw on a dress at the last minute, so that’s a standard Ymir feels she can match.

They only wait for a few minutes more before there’s a knock from the inside of the chapter room, and a rhythmic jiggling of the door handle. Sasha knocks back, in some secret pattern that must be the password (finally, some actual cult shit), and then the door opens, a strong yellow light flooding across the hallway floor.

“We’re going to sit in the back,” Sasha says quietly to the new members before stepping inside. “Just follow me and don’t worry about sitting in any kind of order. We’ll work that out later.”

Ymir has seen the chapter room before, during Sasha’s enthusiastic tour at the last new member meeting. Then, it just seemed like a big, empty room, with dozens of chairs pushed back against the walls. The chairs have been rearranged now in a circular series of rows, all facing the podium and presentation screen at the back wall, where the chapter president, Hedy, stands, scrolling through the laptop on the podium as the new members file in. It’s impressive to see every single sister gathered in one room together, but it’s not quite as ritualistic as Ymir was hoping (like, if she’s sticking this out for a few more weeks, she better see some cultlike nonsense!). The presentation projected on the big screen suggests that they’re just going to be talking about upcoming semester events. Seriously, where is the blood oath?

“Big welcome to our new members,” Hedy says when they’ve all taken their seats. “It’s their first chapter meeting, so everyone, be nice.”

A laugh ripples through the sisters. Some of the new members chuckle nervously.

“Okaaaay,” Hedy says, squinting at her computer screen. “Next, we have the report of the Vice President of Operations. Signe, you in the house?”

“I’m coming,” she huffs as she legs it from the back of the room.

“Well, don’t hurt yourself.”

Signe reaches the podium and leans over Hedy’s shoulder to glance at the computer screen. “Okay, so events! We’ve got a lot coming up, since we’re getting close to the end of the semester and everyone’s trying to get those philanthropy points in. As our initiated sisters know, we’ve voted to hold one large philanthropy event in the spring, so our burden for the next few weeks is just to show up to other Greek events and show our support.”

“All of these dates will be in the bulletin,” Hedy says. She glances to the back rows. “New members, that’s the email I send out every Monday.”

Signe moves to the next slide. “Okay, now for social events…”

They do a fuckton of things, is the main takeaway Ymir has from the chapter meeting. It proceeds in the same fashion, with each vice president coming up to give announcements pertaining to their area of expertise; there’s reminders about intramural games, panhellenic fundraisers, sisterhood retreats, fraternity socials… Ymir has never bothered to read through the complete email that she gets from Hedy every week (partially because she’s never been totally sure if it’s pertinent to her), but the Betas are up to a lot more than she thought.

Not to mention, Hedy has to be the coolest chapter president on campus, because she spends most of the meeting standing with one hip cocked, drinking an iced coffee and swinging banter at the VPs who come up to speak. She takes a good five minutes to riff on Mikasa’s blunt finance presentation, until Mikasa finally steps on her foot.

The new members are dismissed early so the chapter meeting can close formally in private (does that mean a blood oath? Sounds like a blood oath to Ymir), and they head back to the study room to review the organizational flowchart that Sasha has created to outline each officer’s position and responsibilities. It doesn’t explain why everyone is a vice president or whatever, but it does help.

Ymir is trudging out the door half an hour later, binder tucked back under her shirt, when she runs into Annie around a corner.

Ymir blinks at her. “Oh, yeah. I forgot that you’re here.”

Annie tightens her grip on the sheet music in her hand. “Yeah.”

“Oh, and you play bass,” Ymir exclaims, gesturing at the sheet music.

Annie stares at her. “We’ve played in symphony together for two years.”

“Hey, don’t pull that shit on me,” Ymir says. “You pretended like you didn’t know me that time in the Beta house.

“I didn’t know you.”

“Okay, whatever. You’re not going to practice, are you?”

“Yeah,” Annie says. “There’s a chamber concert this weekend.”

Ymir grimaces. “Gross. So glad I left that nonsense.”

“Wind quartet concert is coming up, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Ymir snorts. “There’s gonna be, like, five people there, you know, the oldies who always come to matinees.”

“You should put it in the group chat.”

Ymir looks at her. “What?”

“The Beta group chat,” Annie says, pulling out her phone. “We put things in there.”

“Gee, thanks for that elaboration.”

“Someone might want to come.”

“No one wants to go to a wind quartet concert.”

Annie taps something on her phone. “Already sent.”

Ymir feels her phone buzz in her pocket. “Great. Thanks. I have to go to bed now and not practice.”

She’s halfway out the door when someone clutches her on the shoulder.

“Fuck,” Ymir hisses, leaping back through the doorway. “What the hell?”

Mikasa stands there. She retracts her hand and frowns at it.

“Sorry,” she says, lowering her hand. “I just forgot to tell you something.”

“Jesus, did you have to attack me to do it?”

“We’ve recruited you for our intramural floor hockey team,” Mikasa says.

Behind her, Annie nods.

Ymir blinks. “I don’t think you have, actually.”

“You, me, her,” Annie says.

“Listen, I’m flattered, but how do I say this?  _No_.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Mikasa says. “We just need a third person.”

“We’re already in the finals,” Annie says. “But our last warm body got hit in the face with a stick and refuses to play again. So you’re playing with us against Zeta Chi.”

Ymir pauses. “Sorry, this is an inter-sorority intramural league?”

“We can take them,” Mikasa says. “As long as you don’t commit any fouls.”

“Uh,” Ymir says, rubbing her forehead. “Look, I’m pretty busy…”

Annie scoffs. “Don’t be scared.”

Ymir glares at her. “I’m not  _scared_.”

“We can beat Zeta without you,” Mikasa says. She lowers her voice. “But you can help us destroy them.”

She is suddenly filled with the urge to play floor hockey.

“Okay, fine,” Ymir exclaims. “But I’m just the required third person! Don’t expect me to exert any kind of energy.”

Annie holds out her hand in a gesture that Ymir thinks is a fist bump; then she punches Ymir in the arm and sends shockwaves through her entire nervous system, leaving nothing but a numb bicep in her wake. She and Mikasa disappear into the hallways of the Beta house, leaving Ymir standing alone in the doorway, staring after them. Are they friends now? That definitely seems like the only way Annie would know how to make friends.

The floor hockey finals are not for another week, so Ymir puts off the question of whether or not she’ll actually show up and tries to focus on the wind quartet concert. 

It’s a good distraction from the thoughts and faces running through her mind. She’s not perfect, of course, because she’s been dedicating all of her practice time to her recital pieces, but she’s playing well. Even better, the quartet plays well together. She hates all three of these fuckers and their stupid inferior woodwinds, but at least they can cooperate in a quartet.

It helps that Dr. Mikkelsen isn’t the one grading her on this performance.

(He says almost nothing during her recital review that week. Ymir would consider that a good sign, if she didn’t already know that she still needed massive amounts of practice.)

It’s possible that she spends the week being totally isolationist. She doesn’t leave her room unnecessarily, God forbid she run into Historia, and she refrains from spending time with Reiner and Bertholdt outside of class. They  _seem_ fine, but their bullshit is their bullshit and she’s not going to get involved unless the situation demands it. Right now, things are quiet. Things are fine. Everything’s fine, and as long as Ymir ignores all distractions, everything will stay that way.

Sunday afternoon comes before she knows it, and then she is coming out on stage with the rest of the quartet. They settle down, their four chairs assembled in a semicircle. She looks at the flutist, the oboist, the clarinetist. Then they begin.

The concert is close to perfect. Ymir knows as soon as they hum the first harmony, that this will be one of our personal best performances. There’s something about Sunday matinee performances that soothe her, and she’s feeling mellow. Quiet. She’s fine.

The audience is polite when the quartet strikes their final notes; they give a gentle round of applause that follows the musicians offstage. Ymir scans the seats as they go. Their woodwind professor is in the front row, giving them a kind nod; she doesn’t find Dr. Mikkelsen, thank God, he’s probably busy summoning demons or something, but she does see a group of well-dressed audience members in the last row who look suspiciously like people she knows.

“You guys actually came to this stupid concert?” Ymir exclaims when she finds the Betas waiting for her in the lobby.

“We were on our way to a cabinet meeting,” Mikasa says, fanning herself with her program. “We thought we’d stop by.”

“Well, thanks,” Ymir says, clutching her bassoon. “You guys didn’t have to.”

“Did you see us all the way in the back?” Sasha asks. She’s lugging all of her new member education materials with her in a giant backpack that strains her breath when she talks. “We were a little late and we had kind of a big group, so we missed the first bit, I think, but the rest sounded great! I’m not the best judge of that, but from what I picked up, it sounded great.”

“Usually at these concerts we just get the little old ladies from the home down the street,” Ymir says. “So thanks for filling the seats. It makes us look good.”

Hedy makes her way over to their conversation, glancing around at the lobby as the crowd begins to disseminate. She somehow smuggled an iced coffee into the concert hall, and if that isn’t sorority, Ymir doesn’t know what is.

“They don’t do a very good job of advertising these concerts,” Hedy says, twirling the straw of her iced coffee. “I’ve never seen a flyer or anything.”

That is usually because Ymir tears down all the concert flyers in fits of rage after she fails to hit a perfect note yet again; although this time, she doesn’t remember ripping up a single piece of paper, so maybe it is just shitty advertising.

“We’re way too classy for flyers,” Ymir says.

“I should start coming to these again,” Hedy says. “Annie stopped inviting us to her concerts because we used to cheer for her from the back of the auditorium.”

“Yeah, we got kicked out once,” Sasha says.

Hedy takes a gulp of iced coffee. “In my defense, that was my first classical music concert. How was I supposed to know that it wasn’t like a festival?”

“Oh, wait,” Ymir says, her eyes widening. “I remember that.”

Sasha glances at her. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, that was last year at the symphony concert,” Ymir says. “Dr. M was pissed.”

"He's the conductor, right?" Mikasa asks.

"Yeah."

"Does he still look like a naked mole rat?"

"...yeah." 

Hedy glances at her watch. “We should probably get going. This chapter’s not going to run itself.”

Ymir  gets a brief glare from Mikasa before the Betas depart.

“Remember,” she says, pointing at Ymir. “Floor hockey. Tuesday night.”

“Okay, geez,” Ymir exclaims. “I’ll be your warm body. But if I get hit in the face, there’ll be hell to pay.”

“No promises,” Mikasa says.

Great. She’s looking forward to a broken nose.

The Betas have barely departed when someone claps Ymir on the back, and she coughs, clutching her bassoon for dear life. Oh, it’s just Reiner. Fuck him.

“Did you actually practice or something?” he exclaims.

Ymir manages not to choke on her tongue with the force of her hand. “Fuck you, I can be a good student when I want to,” she exclaims, shoving his hand away.

Bertholdt appears at his side, rolling and unrolling the concert program in his hands (it’s thoroughly tubular by now), and nods at Ymir.

“How much self-restraint did it take for you to get along with that flutist?” he asks.

“A fucking lot,” Ymir exclaims. “I might kill him before the end of the semester.”

“You should’ve stayed in chamber,” Reiner says.

“ _Fuck chamber_.”

“Okay, fine,” Reiner says, raising his hands in surrender. “Did you get the invite to the Halloween party?”

“What?” Ymir exclaims. “No, you know I didn’t.”

“There’s a Halloween party next weekend,” Bertholdt says helpfully.

“Marcel and Porco are hosting again,” Reiner says. “They’re letting Pieck do the decorations and I think she’s going to go all out with the fake blood and stuff. See, this is why you should’ve stayed in chamber.”

“This is exactly why I left chamber,” Ymir grumbles.

But a party sounds really good right about now. Halloween is the one of the biggest weekends of the year, so there’s bound to be an abundance of alcohol. Normally, Ymir just makes a brief appearance before retreating to watch Hocus Pocus alone in her room, but she could really use one wild night to get smashed and destroy someone else’s house. Better yet, to destroy the Galliards’ house.

She grudgingly agrees to attend the party and shoves them away so she can go home and nap before the next chapter meeting that night. Reiner and Bertholdt seemed fine; they showed up to the concert together, after all. That has to speak to something, so Ymir is going to pretend that everything is fine and then it’ll all work out in the end.

Historically, that line of reasoning hasn’t really worked for her, but that’s not going to stop her from using it again.

Ymir fields so many texts from Reiner about her Halloween costume ( _no_ , she will not participate in a group costume with them) that eventually she just puts her phone on silent. By the time she heads out for the floor hockey finals on Tuesday night, she has twenty unread messages. Listen, it’s not her fault that he has unreasonable expectations of her. She’s the laziest person alive and he expects her to put together an ensemble costume with five days notice? She wouldn’t do it with two months notice.

The gym is packed wall to wall when Ymir arrives. She knows it’s the finals and everything, but, like, it’s just an intramural game. It’s not the Olympics. Regardless, Betas and Zetas have arrived in droves to show their support. Ymir stands with Annie and Mikasa on the sidelines, praying very hard that she does not actually have to participate in the game.

“Why the hell are there so many people here?” Ymir mutters to them.

“People only come to the finals,” Mikasa explains. “Beta and Zeta have an intramural rivalry.”

Ymir can see now why Annie and Mikasa single-handedly carry Beta’s athletics endeavours. They’re both ripped as hell, and they look damn fine in their compression shorts and matching jerseys. Ymir looks like someone who just wandered into the gym and picked up a random, ill-fitting Beta jersey (which is exactly what she did).

The referee blows a whistle, and Annie hands Ymir a hockey stick.

“Don’t do anything,” she says. “Just stay out of the way.”

“Got it.”

“Don’t raise the stick above your waist,” Mikasa says. “And don’t check any of Zetas.”

“I was planning on not moving at all,” Ymir says. “I’ll just, like, pick a spot in the corner and watch you guys kick ass.”

“You can play goalie if you want,” Annie says. “You can’t do much damage from there.”

“But we don’t normally play with goalies,” Mikasa adds.

“What, you guys just go straight for the kill shot every time?”

Annie smiles. “Something like that.”

That was the worst, most terrifying thing sight that Ymir has ever witnessed, and she never wants to see it again. They obviously have some kind of evil plan worked out, so she hangs to the side of the court as the game begins.

Mikasa takes the starting position. She is lightning fast when the first whistle blows, and she whisks the puck away from the other starter, smacking it hard towards Annie, who is already running up the side, her stick held low to the ground. She catches the puck and weaves it around the court, her sneakers squeaking across the gym floor. Mikasa runs defense around her, blocking the Zeta players at every turn of their stick. With a jerk of her head, Annie signals Mikasa. She whacks the puck across the court towards her. Mikasa catches it, whirls around, and slams it into the net.

The Betas in the bleachers go wild.

Ymir stands, shellshocked, and glances at the clock. That was only the first twenty seconds. How long before the refs just hand them a mercy win?

The brutality continues.

Zeta’s team is not bad, Ymir notes as she dances around the edge of the court to stay out of the action. But  _not bad_  is not good enough to beat Beta, not when Annie and Mikasa are on the court. The Zetas manage two goals, but that’s measly compared to Beta’s seven.

She’s not sure when the game will end. It would’ve been nice to know, like, literally anything about floor hockey before she agreed to do this, but she guesses she did just sign up to be a warm body. The clock continually runs out and is reset, and by the time Zeta manages to score a third goal, Ymir is sure that the game must be ending soon. Sports do, like, four quarters, right? Or only some sports, because that’s definitely not how baseball works, but, like, what the hell is floor hockey anyways? Is this even a real sport or just something invented so sorority girls can beat each other up-

“Ymir!” Mikasa calls.

Ymir’s head snaps up.

The puck is coming straight for her, knocked out of Mikasa’s clutches by a feisty Zeta player who refuses to give up. They’re all sprinting towards her as the puck hurdles across the court, but her teammates won’t make it in time. Either the Zetas will get here first, or Ymir will do something to keep them from scoring again.

She has no idea what she’s doing, so she just swings her stick as hard as she can and slices the puck straight into the net.

Wait,  _holy shit_.

The Betas erupt in the stands. Ymir blinks, her hands grasped tightly around the end of her stick. Hell fucking yeah, she just scored that eighth goal!

“I did something,” she exclaims when Annie and Mikasa reach her, their shoes skidding against the floor. “I scored a point!”

“Good job,” Mikasa says, catching her breath.

“We’re up four points anyways,” Annie says. “It’s not like you saved the game or something.”

“Don’t take this from me,” Ymir says. “I’ve never scored a goal in a sport in my life. This is a big accomplishment for me.”

“We were about to get a mercy win anyways,” Mikasa says.

“Can you guys just let me have this?” Ymir exclaims. “I actually  _did something_.”

“YMIR!” someone screams from the stands.

She whips around to see Sasha jumping up and down in the bleachers, Beta’s red and gold painted across her cheeks in war stripes. “YOU DID SOMETHING!”

“Hell fucking yeah!” Ymir roars back. She turns around. “See? That’s what I’m talking about!”

Annie rolls her eyes. “Alright, good job.”

“ _Thank you_.”

It’s literally the most pointless win of her life, including the time she won the eighth grade dodgeball tournament by sitting down and pretending like she was already out (in hindsight, that was a terrific win and an incredibly formative experience for her). Still, she doesn’t care. She scored a goal, damn it, and she’s going to celebrate with her sisters by binging Halloween movies back at the house. 


	8. she said to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously on soul sisters: hell yeah, ymir was actually having a good time! this week: a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next update will be on november 5! i'm traveling next week and won't be able to post. 
> 
> content warning:  
> this chapter depicts excessive alcohol consumption and a brief panic attack. there is also some unkind language said to one character by another. specific details are in the end notes to avoid spoilers.

"Halloween's upon us," Reiner exclaims cheerfully on Friday afternoon. He slings an arm around Ymir's shoulders. "What are you wearing?" 

Ymir shrinks away from his clutches, hissing as she keeps a careful grip on the fresh latte in her hands. If he makes her drop this coffee, he's dead to her. 

"Okay, you should know by now that your arms are too heavy to just do that to someone," she exclaims, stumbling out of his grasp. "You could've choked me."

"Sorry, guess I just don't known my own strength," Reiner says as they continue down the sidewalk, their shoes scuffing at the remnants of the morning's frost. "But seriously, what's your costume?"

The fall has been unusually warm until now, and Ymir has been able to get by wearing just a thicker flannel than normal. But the semester has passed its midpoint now, and the weather is beginning to reflect that. The last two days have born frost across the green lawns at dawn, and even though the sun still comes out, the temperature drop is a clear sign of what’s to come: winter, of course, but the end of the semester too.

And the end of the semester means one thing to Ymir: junior recitals.

She woke up today to a ceaseless buzzing of her phone. She thought it was the Beta group chat blowing up again, or maybe one of her salty tweets had finally gone viral. Instead, she had been overcome with cold dread when she’d opened her inbox to find no less than ten emails from the one and the only, Dr. Mikkelsen.

Most of the emails were sent to all music students, general warnings and reminders about grades, juries, and summer opportunities (it can’t possibly be time to start that cycle again, can it? She’s barely recovered from last year’s failed attempts). The junior recital students received an updated schedule (which he had not taken the time to type up but had instead sent a photo of the madness he’d scrawled on a notepad in his chicken scratch, so, that’s one email Ymir’s just not going to read), and then there was one alarming email sent specially to Ymir.

**Mikkelsen, M.**  
To  _Ymir_

Your recital is less than six weeks away. I hope I’ve made it clear that this grade determines your continuation in the music program.

\--M

Uhhhhh. Okay. So, like. Ymir knew this, in her heart. Like, deep down, she’d recognized the gravity of this recital. And it’s not like she hasn’t been practicing or something. Sure, she lost sight of the end goal for a bit there, and yeah, she’s, like, busier now than she’s ever been before, but she’s still been practicing.

She’d just never seen those words written down.

That weird and ominous email seriously lit a fire under her ass, which is the only reason she’s following Reiner to the Saber practice rooms on a fucking Friday afternoon, when she could be home, like, taking a nap.

She clutches her hot latte close. At least she has coffee.

“I’m not wearing anything special,” Ymir says. “It’s just Halloween.”

She sees Reiner’s outraged reaction coming as soon as she says that, and she cuts him off with a follow-up: “I’m just not going to wear a costume. Halloween’s all about getting wasted now, anyways.”

“You can’t just not wear a costume,” Reiner exclaims as they trudge down the landscaped steps of the quad, Saber Hall appearing on the other side of the lawn. “It’s  _Halloween_.”

"Fine, I'll dress up as a lesbian."

Case in point, she's already wearing a wool-padded denim jacket over her flannel shirt. Winter is good for some things. 

“That’s not a costume. That’s just you.”

“Then I’ll tuck my shirt in and be a cowboy. Happy?"

“You’re gonna look like gay Heath Ledger.”

“Sorry, should I not? Would I be cramping your style?”

“Cowboy is seriously the best you can come up with?” Reiner exclaims, leaning towards her with an incredulous look on his face. For the cold weather, he’s made the switch from iced to hot fancy drinks, and he nearly spills his cinnamon vanilla latte on her.

Ymir ducks out of his way. “I don’t have time to do anything else! And I know that you guys go all out for costumes, but I’m not really sure what the sorority dress code is, so I’m just sticking to my normal party outfit.”

That’s a legitimate excuse. She’s heading to the music party at the Galliards’ after a forced excursion off-campus to a senior Beta sister’s apartment. Okay, it’s not exactly forced, because she was promised alcohol so naturally she’s going to show up, but it definitely took some convincing. The music students get wild every once in a while, but Ymir has heard things about Greek parties. The few hours she spent at the Delta house after homecoming mostly involved sitting in a corner, taking shots, and listening to Mikasa grumble about organic chemistry, but there was definitely some wack shit going down in the rest of the house, and Ymir is not willing to testify in a court of law, no matter what she witnesses.

**Text from Sasha**  
no one will die

**Text from Ymir**  
can u promise me that

**Text from Sasha**  
of course not  
but no ones planning on dying

**Text from Ymir**  
oh well that changes everything

**Text from Sasha**  
ok i see how that was confusing  
but its not a frat party  
this is just some beta sisters plus friends  
probably just chilling and eating candy

**Text from Ymir**  
do you guys dress up?

**Text from Sasha**  
of course! it’s halloween  
i'm dressing up as katniss as usual 

 **Text from Ymir**  
r u serious  
that book came out like 20 years ago

**Text from Sasha**  
it's just an excuse to show off my bow

**Text from Ymir**  
your what now

**Text from Sasha**  
there will be no arrows  
and it's actually just a practice bow not a real one

**Text from Ymir**  
what the fuck is the difference???

**Text from Sasha**  
do you actually want to know? because i'm happy to explain 

**Text from Ymir**  
please no

**Text from Sasha**  
okay so just come to the party  
it'll be fun

 **Text from Ymir**  
okay fine but if someone starts dying im leaving  
i have to leave early anyways for the music party

**Text from Sasha**  
is it weird if i ask to come to that

**Text from Ymir**  
why would anyone want to do that

**Text from Sasha**  
i met your friends in the audience at your ensemble concert and they seemed like fun

**Text from Ymir**  
oh my god  
r u talking about reiner and bertltlltl

**Text from Sasha**  
is that his name?

**Text from Ymir**  
yep spelled exactly like that  
they are not fun  
they are idiots  
but you can come if you want

**Text from Sasha**  
COOL

So, basically, this weekend is guaranteed to be a shitshow.

“Dressing up is the whole point of Halloween,” Reiner says as they near the front doors of Saber. “You could literally just wear underwear and no one could say anything about it.”

“Jesus,” Ymir mutters. “Can’t wait to see your costume.”

No matter what, Ymir is eternally grateful that this weekend has finally arrived. This semester has been long as hell and totally exhausting, and the last few weeks don’t seem promising either. She has to practice like hell for her recital, not to mention keep up with symphony and wind quartet, and also somehow pass both music history and anthropology, which, it turns out, she hates. On top of that, she’s still hanging onto Beta, for Reiner’s sake as much as for her own. He was right, again, damn it; it is nice to have some scheduled social time to unwind before she locks herself in a practice room again. Still, she’s sticking to her plan to leave before initiation. She is not the kind of person who commits to anything for life.

The last few weeks of the semester contain a lot of moving parts, with many opportunities for something to go wrong. And knowing her, something will go wrong.

So if it’s going to happen, she needs it to happen this weekend.

One last weekend to let shit fall apart, and then Ymir is going to keep her head down until she passes all of her classes. She knows that she repeats this mantra every semester (doesn’t everyone?), but so far in her college career, she has failed to truly stick to it. There’s always something that fucks her up at the end of the semester, just when it looks like she’s going to make it out unscathed. Last spring, it was her disastrous audition for the summer tour. Last fall, it was a wicked hangover during her keyboarding exam.

That’s not going to happen this semester. She doesn’t have much time left in college (oh  _fuck_ ), and if she wants to graduate with any value attached to her music degree, she needs to get her shit together. Maybe Reiner’s paranoid anxiety is rubbing off on her after all.

She stands behind him as he scribbles on the room reservation board in Saber’s lobby, filling in two hours worth of time for each of them. That’s a bit generous to think she can actually sit still for the next two hours, but Ymir says nothing about it, just sips her latte and stares at him.

“So,” she says loudly after a silent moment.

Reiner glances up from the board.

“You’re good, right?” Ymir asks.

He looks at her. “What?”

“Dude, last weekend,” Ymir says, lowering her coffee cup. “You had an existential meltdown at the pond.”

“Oh,” Reiner says. “I wouldn’t really call that a meltdown.”

He says nothing else, just continues filling in the board, and Ymir stares at him.

“That’s it?” she scoffs after a moment.

“That was nothing,” Reiner says, shrugging. “You know how it is, with recitals and everything. I mean, can you believe we have a chamber concert on the Saturday of Halloween weekend? There’s just a lot going on.”

“Right,” Ymir says, leaning against the wall. “So, you’re good?”

Reiner glances at her. “Are  _you_ good?”

“Yeah, I won a fucking hockey game.”

He sighs and sets the pen down. “I still can’t believe I missed that. But from what I’ve heard, you only scored one goal.”

“The only sports goal I’ve ever scored in my life, so, yeah, I’m doing pretty great.”

“But you know,” Reiner says as they start down the hallway. He reaches for his keys, searching for the right one. “There was all that stuff with Historia, and I know you feel like you’ve bounced back from it, but I don’t want you to smother your feelings.”

The door swings as they step into the instrument room. Ymir carries her bassoon with her almost everywhere, because she’s a fucking hoarder, but she follows Reiner to the large lockers on the far side of the room, where he finds the right key and unlocks his cello from its locker.

“Look,” Ymir says. She holds her coffee cup with one hand and fidgets with her bassoon case, letting go of one shoulder strap and clutching it to her side instead. “I admit that I got a little lost. Yes, I invested a lot of time and energy into getting into Historia’s pants, only to have her turn me down or whatever. But I’ve got other shit to think about now, okay? I’m fine.”

“Other shit,” Reiner echoes. “Did you get the email from Dr. Mikkelsen?”

“The one about the dress rehearsal schedule?”

“No, the one where he threatened to kick you out of school.”

Ymir glares at him. “How the  _fuck_ -”

“I keep telling you,” Reiner says, dragging his cello case out of the locker. “We’re tight now.”

“Do you fucking ghostwrite his emails for him? Because you’re doing a bad job.”

“No, I was in his office when he wrote it.”

“You’re really riding his dick, huh?”

“I just know that I’m not living up to his expectations,” Reiner says. He sets his cello case down upright and sighs, then glances at Ymir. “Being first chair is hard.”

She sips her latte. “I wouldn’t fucking know.”

On Saturday night, Ymir finds herself stuffed into the back of a Volkswagen Beetle with six other Beta sisters, each dressed in their tiniest costumes despite the dropping temperatures of the season. Ymir has been convinced to tie her flannel shirt off above her midriff, to give her outfit at least the illusion of being a costume. Of the Beta sisters she’s gotten to know so far, she knows that none of them are particularly inclined to revealing a wild amount of skin on a regular basis. But tonight, on Halloween, Mikasa is crammed next to Ymir in the car wearing what basically amounts to lingerie.

“It’s Halloween,” is all she says when Ymir raises an eyebrow.

And what a Halloween it is.

The apartment building is booming by the time their car arrives. This is a party by Betas, for Betas, and their squad rolls through the door to bellowing cheers and raised glasses. Ymir recognizes most of the faces in the living room when she finally manages to squeeze through the crowd of tipsy girls and get some breathing room. Neon drinks are passed around and the music blares from floor to ceiling. The crowd is a menagerie of characters hidden beneath masks and face paint, and someone plants a cowboy hat on Ymir’s head with a shout that she doesn’t understood. This is hers now. They’re not getting it back.

Ymir recognizes a few other girls from recruitment, freshmen who ended up in Sigma or whatever, and of course, there’s a collection of frat guys organizing the bar (just moving bottles around) and arguing about how lit the playlist is. Ymir follows Annie through the crowded living room to a back room, where a game of beer pong is reaching its end. She hangs off to the side with Sasha, who gestures to every person in the room and introduces them by name, rank, and drink of choice.

Mikasa reappears (to be fair, Ymir didn’t even notice she was gone; this apartment is tiny, but it’s  _packed_ ), two guys following in her wake.

“Where’ve you been?” Sasha asks, leaning back against the wall.

She did, indeed, bring a bow to the party with her, although Ymir sees now what she means by practice bow. It’s plastic and definitely intended more for form than actual shooting. It’s also the only part of her costume that indicates that she’s dressed as Katniss, since she’s taken the lead from everyone else and just thrown on something small and tight. It’s, like, twenty degrees outside. How the fuck are these girls thriving like this?

“These two got lost in the parking lot,” Mikasa says, stepping around them to form a circle. “I had to rescue them.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re here,” Sasha says. She hands her empty cup to one of the guys. “Armin, do something about this.”

“You should really mix your own drinks,” Armin mumbles under his breath before disappearing to the bar.

Mikasa jerks her head at the other guy. “Ymir, this is Eren.”

Ymir smirks at him. “Hey, you used to be in the music school.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Eren says instantly.

“He dropped out,” Mikasa says, swirling her drink.

“Mikasa!” Eren hisses.

Sasha snorts. “It’s not like it’s a secret.”

“Yeah, I remember you,” Ymir exclaims. “You kicked your stand over in the middle of my first winter concert and stormed offstage. God, those were the days.”

“Classic,” Sasha says.

“I never wanted to play violin anyways,” Eren grumbles.

Armin returns with a full cup of something bright red that he hands to Sasha, along with a stern look. Mikasa heeds a call from Annie across the room, slides an arm around Eren’s shoulders in what amounts to a headlock, grabs Armin too, and heads to the corner where Annie appears to be organizing some kind of gambling ring. So, no one’s died (yet), but some wack shit is definitely going down.

Ymir leans over to Sasha, frowning. “Is there some combination of those three that’s dating?”

“What?” Sasha says, glancing up at her. “You have to yell at me at parties like this.”

“Are they dating?” Ymir yells, but someone just heaved a keg through the front door and the whole apartment erupted into a massive cheer, smothering her words. The arrival of the keg sends people in costumes flurrying out to the main room, leaving a little open space for them to catch their breath.

“I’m claiming this table,” Sasha exclaims immediately, moving in to sweep away the abandoned beer pong game. “Hey, get another drink while I convince these losers to play!”

Ymir has no idea what game is being played exactly, but it promises to be intense and full of alcohol, so she’s down. She scoots back out to the main room, holding her empty cup above the crowd and shoving people out of her way as she navigates back to the bar, which is just a sticky kitchen counter where some guy named Chad insists that he’s serving all the drinks and she has to do a kegger if she wants the good stuff, at least until Ymir threatens to gut him with her untrimmed toenails. She pours herself the least sophisticated cocktail ever (little bit of this, a lot of that, let’s call it a Long Island Iced Tea and that’s that) and heads back to the game room, her treasure cup held close to her chest, past a group of senior Beta sisters devouring a tray of orange jello shots.

“Oh, hey!” one of them calls, lunging for Ymir.

She’s reeled in by the sleeve of her shirt (damn, everyone was right- skimpy is the way to go) and is pulled into the circle of Beta whom she mostly does not recognize and definitely cannot name. The one who pulled her in is wearing fairy wings and might be Audra or Anna or Ashley or something. Or, like, literally any other name.

“Hey, Ymir, right?” she asks. “That was a sweet hockey game! I knew we’d kick Zeta’s ass.”

“Yeah, I won that game all by myself,” Ymir says.

Audra or Anna laughs.

“I’m so glad you’re fitting in,” she gushes, looping her arm around Ymir’s. “It’s so hard joining a sorority when you’re not a freshman, like, I was a sophomore when I joined Beta and it sucked balls so bad for a while because I felt like everyone was such a baby, you know? So it’s really cool that you’ve got your squad and shit.”

“Uh, sure,” Ymir says.

One of the other girls leans over- Jessica? Jordan? Jimbob?- and touches Ymir’s arm. “You and Sasha are, like, the best big/little match I’ve ever seen,” she slurs. “You’re gonna ask for her as your big, right?”

“My what?” Ymir exclaims.

Audra shrieks with laughter and slaps Ymir on the arm, her drink sloshing over the sides of her cup. “Girl!” she cries. “Your big sister, duh! Do you pay attention in new member ed or what?”

“What does that even mean?”

“Girl, she’s, like, your mentor,” Audra explains. She has six empty jello shot cups stacked in one hand, but she speaks with perfect clarity. “Your big sister is the one who guides you through life and shit, like, a real big sister, except she’s your sorority sister, but I promise, the bond is just as strong.”

She steadies a hand on Ymir’s shoulder and looks her square in the eyes. “Do you have sisters?”

“No. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Good,” Audra says, “then you won’t know the difference.”

“The big/little bond is sacred,” another Beta sister says. “Bigs make sure that their littles get the most out of the sisterhood. It’s a friendship for life.”

“Okay, there’s not, like, a blood oath or anything,” Audra says. She bops Ymir on the nose. “But you should start thinking about who you want as your big! The time is coming.”

“I was kind of looking forward to a blood oath,” Ymir says, taking a sip of her drink. This shit is nasty, who the fuck mixed this? Oh, it was her.

“Don’t worry,” someone says. “We’ll get there.”

Audra nods. “Just wait for initiation.”

“...wait, is there actually a blood oath?”

“Bye, Ymir!” Audra yells, firmly shoving her out of the circle. “All will be revealed in due time! Go have fun, and if you need a DD, call Signe, she’s sober tonight!”

Ymir finds her way back to the game room, her cup refilled, her suspicions aroused, and her party attitude renewed. She comes back just in time to find Sasha splaying a ring of cards in a circle on the table, wincing at the sticky surface beneath her touch.

“Did you bring those with you?” Ymir asks. “What are you, a girl scout?”

Sasha beams. “I was! But no, I stole these from the guy out there who thinks he’s a mixologist.”

Ymir sips on her terrible drink. “Fuck yeah, stick it to Chad.”

They gather at the table and play their way through a series of increasingly sloppy drinking games. Ymir doesn’t have any idea what the hell is going on in the game, but it’s kind of a free for all anyways. For her part, she’s having the time of her life. She’s out on Halloween, and she’s got a steady supply of free alcohol coming her way. Man, she’s been missing out all this time. Music parties never hand out this much free booze. This apartment is covered in sticky beer stains and full of drunk strangers, so it’s not, like, the world’s best party. But when there’s tequila, anything is possible.

She’s lost track of the time (and the number of drinks she’s had) when Sasha suddenly jumps up from the game and grabs onto Ymir’s arm like her life depends on it.

“We should go to the music party,” she yells over the noise. “You told your friends we were coming, right?”

“Oh, shit, yeah,” Ymir yells back. “It’s not that far from there! We can walk!”

It’s a lot farther than she thought, and by the time they stumble to the front porch, they are way too sober. Okay, so not, like, actually sober, but it’s been almost an hour since Ymir last did a shot and that’s not acceptable on Hallofuckingween. Ymir and Sasha cram themselves inside, immediately overwhelmed by the lights, the noise, and the sheer number of people that have packed into Marcel and Porco’s house. It’s a small, crappy college rental on a good day, but tonight it’s been transformed into a chaotic party scene. There must be a hundred people, if not more, and many of them definitely not music students. They spread from wall to wall, spilling into the backyard, crowding along the staircase and the second-floor balcony. It takes Ymir ten minutes to find Reiner in the crowd, and when she finally does, she is immediately ready to pretend that she doesn’t know him.

“You made it!” he roars, emerging from the dance floor to swing an arm around her shoulders. “I didn’t know if you were going to show!”

Ymir shoves him away. “What the  _fuck_ are you wearing?”

Reiner glances down at his tight red shirt. “I’m Pooh Bear!”

“Christ, you’re barely wearing pants!”

“Barely or bearly?” Reiner exclaims, nudging her.

Ymir steps on his foot. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Hey, you’re here too!” Reiner exclaims, reaching out to pat Sasha on the head. “How’s it hangin’, Ymir’s only other friend?”

“This place is crazy!” Sasha yells back. “Are music parties always like this?”

“Well, not all the- wait, is that a fucking bow?”

Ymir knocks his hand away from the bow- fake or not, that’s a recipe for disaster. “Take your drunk ass into the kitchen and get us drinks! We’re way too sober for this. Where’s Bertholdt?”

“Oh, you’ll never believe this,” Reiner exclaims as he points across the room.

Ymir can barely (bearly) follow his gesture through the crowd, but eventually she spies a small, dimly lit corner of the room, where Bertholdt sits squished between a group of drunk girls, coerced into playing what looks like a highly aggressive game of Never Have I Ever. And, of course, he’s dressed as Tigger.

“He’s a chick magnet,” Reiner explains.

“He’s losing,” Ymir says. “Hey, where’s that fucking drink, Braun?”

Reiner fights his way through the crowd to the kitchen while Sasha and Ymir orient themselves with their new surroundings. The house is  _shaking_ as heavy music blasts from Marcel’s intricate stereo setup. The living room has been converted into a makeshift dance floor, all the furniture shoved against the walls and serving as dimly lit make out spots for sweaty, tipsy people in half-assed costumes. The disco ball strung from the ceiling reflects each flash of the neon strobe lights placed across the room, and it creates a colorful, dancing spectacle that glimmers across their vision. If Ymir doesn’t get drunk soon, she’s going to have a seizure.

Her request for drinks is eventually fulfilled, except when Reiner returns, he just hands her a nearly empty bottle of tequila and tells her to pretend that she has a shot glass, because apparently small plastic cups are a delicacy these days. Sasha at least gets a mixed drink in a cup, although it smells like 99% vodka. Whatever, it’s all the same to them. Alcohol is alcohol, and Ymir will take whatever free shit she can get.

“Ugh, finally,” she exclaims before taking a swig of tequila. She screws up her face and swallows, gasping. “This is the worst tequila I’ve ever had.”

“Thanks, I got it at the liquor store next to the pawn shop,” Reiner says. He loops his arms through theirs and begins dragging them through the crowd. “Come on! Let’s go downstairs!”

The basement door is hidden beneath the staircase; it’s not completely empty when they all finally manage to make it downstairs alive (she’s pretty sure someone is having sex in the bathroom), but it’s much quieter and there’s breathing room, at least. She’ll need a few more mouthfuls of tequila before diving into the crowd upstairs.

“Oh, they have a pool table!” Sasha exclaims, bouncing across the room. “This house is about to become the best party place in town!”

“Where’d Marcel and Porco get all this shit?” Ymir asks, trailing behind Sasha. “Pool table, dartboard… Sasha, you grew up on a farm, isn’t darts, like, your national sport?”

“Yeah, and if you talk smack about it, I’ll put you down.”

“Jesus,” Ymir mutters.

“I think all this stuff comes with the house,” Reiner says.

The cue balls lie in a random pattern across the table, evidently frozen as the remnants of an unfinished game. He flings one towards a corner and misses the pocket by just a few centimeters. It comes rocketing back and nearly crushes his fingers.

“There was a murder here or something,” he says. “So it’s super cheap rent.”

Sasha stares at him. “What?”

Reiner shrugs. “I’m kidding. I have no idea.”

Ymir flings a ball towards Reiner’s hand. He howls when it crushes his thumb.

“Hey, this is a fun game,” Ymir exclaims, setting the bottle of tequila down. “Let’s see who can ruin Reiner’s career first!”

“I need these fingers!”

They send cue balls racing across the table at each other. Sasha keeps score of their bruised fingers, but they all lose in the end when one ball goes flying off the table and smashes into the wall. It definitely leaves a dent, and they definitely excuse themselves back upstairs to escape the scene of the crime.

Pieck commands the bar in the kitchen (because who the fuck is going to tell this crazy bitch what to do), and the sheer mass of alcohol collected on the countertops is honestly mind-boggling. Ymir finishes the last dregs of the tequila and orders something a bit lighter to top it off, but, like, it’s Pieck, so she ends up with a cup of rum-spiked jungle juice-

(“It’s already got a fuckton of rum in it,” Ymir says as Pieck ruins her life.

Pieck keeps pouring the rum. “I know what I’m doing.”

Reiner nudges Ymir. “Yeah, let the professional do her work.”

“I’m going to  _die_ ,” Ymir exclaims, taking the drink, “and you’ll both be legally responsible.”)

-and says, you know what? It’s fucking Halloween. She has to spend the rest of the semester practicing her ass off, so why not get fucking blasted tonight?

Ymir loses Sasha after a while (something about a cute flutist, although Ymir knows all of the flutists and none of them are cute in the slightest, but go off) and then Reiner is gone too, dragging a reluctant Bertholdt onto the dance floor. Ymir makes herself comfortable against the wall, sipping on her drink, and watches the rest of these fuckers get shitfaced to terrible trap music.

She’s feeling good.

The world is spinning beneath her feet, but the lights are bright, the music is loud, and the drinks are strong. For a moment, she forgets how shitty this semester has been. She’s just another person at a Halloween party, now that all of that stupid love shit is behind her. She doesn’t have to see Historia’s stupid face ever again.

Porco is by her side, shouting into her ear.

“Isn’t that the girl who dumped you before you even started dating?” he yells.

Ymir jerks upright, knocking his cup out of his hands.

“Jesus,” Porco grumbles. “The shit I put up with at my own fucking parties.”

“What did you say?” Ymir yells back, glaring at him.

“We all know about that,” Porco says. He picks up his empty cup and grimaces at the spilled drink soaking into the carpet. “Pretty humiliating, if you ask me.”

Ymir glances through the crowd of people filling the dance floor, their bodies moving erratically under the flashing lights. At first, she sees nothing, no one, just a mass of light and sound.

But then Historia is there, shimmering beneath the disco ball in something loose and pink. Her hair bounces across her shoulders as she dances. Her laugh echoes across the room, ringing in Ymir’s ears. She is as beautiful as she has always been.

For a moment, Ymir forgets.

“Thanks for nothing,” Porco grumbles. He crushes the empty cup in his hands. “Look what you made me do.”

She takes another drink. Her throat burns as the rum makes its way down, and she heaves herself off the wall and saunters toward the dance floor.

“Hey, Historia,” Ymir calls, waving her cup like a beacon.

The music fades out just as she yells, and Historia hears her voice; she twirls around, her costume dress fluttering around her body like a balloon, and she waves back.

“Oh, hi!” she exclaims when Ymir approaches. “I thought I might see you here!”

“Yeah, well, this is where we met,” Ymir says.

Historia wipes her hair back from her brow, smiling. “I meant, because it’s a music party, but yeah, that too, I guess.”

“So, is this your scene now or whatever?” Ymir says. “Music parties and stuff?”

Historia shrugs as the dance floor regroups behind her, people in costumes shuffling around to the beat of a new song. She’s holding onto an empty cup, and some guy is lingering behind her. Ymir recognizes him, she thinks: one of the senior violinists. Another moment, and he’s gone, slipped away into the crowd with a roll of his eyes.

“Well,” Historia says, glancing down at her empty cup, “Siobhan and Marcel are dating now, finally, so he invited some of us, you know, so, I guess, yeah, this is kinda my thing now.”

“Cool,” Ymir mumbles.

Her voice sounds like an echo.

Historia comes closer, brushing her hair behind her ear as she peers up at Ymir. “Hey, listen,” she says, raising her voice to be heard over the music. “We’re cool, right? After all the stuff I said at the homecoming tailgate?”

“Are we cool?” Ymir repeats.

“I don’t want there to be any hard feelings,” Historia says. The dancers move around them, and she raises her voice again. “I just meant to say that-”

“No, we’re not cool,” Ymir exclaims suddenly. “Why would we be cool?”

Historia blinks. “You said you were fine with it.”

“I was lying,” Ymir exclaims. “I’m a fucking liar, alright? But can you blame me, honestly, after all that shit you said? Like, you’re so busy or whatever? We all know what that means.”

“That’s all it means,” Historia says, a hard edge cutting through her voice. “That’s literally all it means.”

“You just didn’t have the balls to say the truth to my face,” Ymir says. “You just had to be all nice about it, didn’t you?”

“Ymir,” Historia says. “I don’t think this is the right time to talk about this.”

“The right time?” Ymir exclaims. Her drink sloshes over the edge of her cup and she soaks her hand. “Shit, gross. Hey, Historia, is there a right time to tell you that I think you’re fucking wrong?”

“Wrong about my feelings?” Historia exclaims. Her nostrils flare. “Ymir. Please.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Ymir exclaims. “I know what that means and it doesn’t mean that you’re too busy, it just means that you don’t want to deal with me, and hey, that’s fine, I guess, you know, I guess you’re just like every other straight girl at this school, who won’t give a lesbian the time of day but loves to get wasted and go ham on anyone’s fucking lips-”

Reiner is there, pulling on her arm.

“Hey,” he mutters in her ear. “You’re really drunk. Ymir, come on, let’s go.”

“No, you come on,” she yells, jerking out of his grasp. “I’m fine! It’s these people! It’s this fucking girl who’s not fine!”

She turns her blurred gaze back to Historia. “That’s some bullshit, okay? You could have just been honest with me-”

“I was honest with you,” Historia says. “Ymir, I think you should go home-”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Ymir snaps. “I don't have to listen to some fake lesbian slut, okay-"

Her voice fumbles on her tongue, and she thinks,  _shit_. 

Historia was calm: the only thing in this room that made sense as the neon lights swirled and swung around her. Now, her face changes. Her eyes flare in the darkness, her pursed lips trembling tightly,  and  _shit_ , Ymir didn’t mean to say that, she doesn't really mean that-

“I’m sorry,” Ymir says instantly, reaching out. “I’m sorry, that was-”

“You don’t even know me,” Historia exclaims, slapping her hand away.  Her voice dulls the music, and her words are all Ymir can hear. 

"You don't know anything about me," Historia says. "I'm bi, thanks for fucking asking, and if you'd bothered to get to know me at all, instead of coming here and calling me a slut, then maybe I'd have given you a fucking chance." 

She turns on her heel, the twirl of her skirt dancing across Ymir’s vision until she is gone, out the door, and then there is nothing left but the lights flashing and the nausea rising in Ymir’s throat.

“Come on,” Reiner says in her ear. “You’re fucked up. Let’s go.”

“Wait,” Ymir exclaims.

She drops her cup. It takes minutes to fall, the leftover rum pounding onto the floor. Her heart races. Her chest tightens. The cup hits the floor, and she can’t breathe.

“Wait, wait,  _no_.”

Something loud cuts through the music, and the living room lights burst on. People shout. Porco sweeps past her onto the dance floor, shoving the crowd towards the door.

“This party’s busted, kids,” he shouts, his voice echoing in her ears. “Get your asses out of here, or I swear to God-”

“Ymir, come on,” she hears Reiner say. “Come on, let’s get out of here, we can go back to our place and-”

“Reiner, will you just leave her?” someone else yells, and Reiner lets go of her elbow and she drops to her knees, the rum soaking through her jeans, and  _shit_ , are they actually fighting, she’s never heard them fight before.

“I’m not leaving our friend here! She’s drunk, she needs to go home-”

“She needs to pull her shit together! This isn’t your fucking problem to solve. God, it’s always something, isn’t it? You don’t have to be the fucking hero!”

“I’m trying to be a good friend!”

“A real friend would slap some sense into her-”

“Yeah, well, you can just fucking go, Bert! I’ll get her home by myself, thanks.”

“Don’t pretend like you’re some kind of martyr-”

No, no, fuck no, this isn’t happening, she didn’t mean for this to happen-

“I’m fine,” Ymir mutters, rubbing her eyes.

When she looks up, the world is still spinning, but the crowd is gone, and it’s just them now, Reiner and Bertholdt staring down at her, both red in the face. She can hear Porco yelling from the basement, and Pieck clearing empty bottles in the kitchen, but she doesn’t see Marcel and she doesn’t see Sasha- was Sasha ever here? Didn’t Ymir bring her?

“You’re not fine,” Bertholdt says. “You just had a fucking panic attack.”

“I’m fine,” Ymir mumbles.

She can’t find her feet.

From the corner of her eye, she sees Reiner wiping away tears.

“We’re taking you home,” he says, grabbing her by the arms. He heaves her onto her feet and holds her up. “Right, Bertholdt?”

“Right, yeah, whatever.”

The night is quiet. Campus is only a few blocks away, and Ymir has walked the distance before; but tonight it feels like miles, her mind stuck, her body stumbling, and she has never felt more like shit in her entire life.

By the time they reach her room, she has sobered up enough to jerk herself out of Reiner’s clutches and walk on her own. She stands before her door, fumbling with her keys, as they mutter behind her.

“Did you mean it?” Bertholdt asks, his voice soft.

There’s a pause before Reiner answers. “What?”

“You told me to go. Did you mean it?”

Silence. Why can’t she find her fucking room key?

“Give me that,” Reiner snaps, snatching the key ring from her. He unlocks the door and kicks it open.

“Thanks,” Ymir mumbles.

“Don’t die in your sleep,” Reiner mutters, and he takes off down the hallway.

She feels Bertholdt linger for another second. Then he goes too, leaving Ymir alone in her doorway, the fluorescent lights blinking in her blurred vision.

_Shit_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning:  
> the crew partakes in heavy binge drinking typical of college parties. ymir says something hurtful to historia regarding her sexuality, and subsequently has a panic attack.


	9. crossed the line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously on soul sisters: ymir was a drunk idiot. this week: ymir is a sober idiot.

Snow falls that weekend. It blankets the campus in thick, white sheets, bringing the arrival of November and the near promise of another year's end. The semester begins drawing to a close too, with bustling practice rooms in Saber and crowded quiet spaces in the library. Time seems short now that the days are dark and quiet; campus becomes quiet too, a harried hush as students begin preparing to face their final exams.

For Ymir, the campus is especially quiet. 

Halloween weekend always brings out the worst in people. Her classes on Monday morning are lousy with people still hungover from the wild parties on Saturday night, their last effort to have some fun before the semester completely takes of their lives. She overhears stories stories of stomach pumps and broken pool tables, the kind of incidents that make people swear off drinking forever, or at least until next weekend. 

And yet, despite their horror stories, her peers are able to laugh it off. It was just another Halloween for them. It's not like any of them accused their kind-of-ex-crush of being a fake lesbian and started a fight between their two best friends and spent the rest of the weekend vomiting into a trash can because they couldn't find the will to leave their room. 

Alright, so there's a lot of people who sympathize with the vomiting thing. This is a bit of a party school, after all. 

But the regret that Ymir carries with her is about more than a party. She can't seem to find the humor in it, no matter how much she tries to brush it off as a drunken mistake, and eventually she resigns herself to spending the rest of the semester- probably the rest of her life- alone in her room. 

She tries to apologize.

_Hi_ , she writes.  _I didn't really mean any of that. I was drunk and angry and I'm sorry._

She stares at the message for a long time. Then she deletes the words and turns off her phone. Historia doesn't want to hear from her anyways. She made that much clear. 

Still, Ymir can't stay in her room forever. On top of her usual rehearsals for symphonic band and wind quartet, she's supposed to be practicing for her junior recital in earnest: oh yeah, the performance that will decide her fate as a music student. She's pretty sure she won't fail even if she doesn't practice that much, because she knows, deep down, that she's a good bassoonist. But failing a junior recital is not unheard of; some students are dropped from the program, thousands of dollars in debt, and have to decide how to spend their senior year: scrambling to graduate with another degree, or leaving the school entirely. She can't be one of those people. That's what every already thinks of her. 

She has Beta too. 

She'd forgotten about Beta for a bit in the aftermath of Halloween; and by a bit, she means most of Sunday until she remembered that she had a chapter meeting in ten minutes, and then she sprinted across campus wearing a half-assed professional ensemble and holding back a wicked hangover. They finalized their requests for Big Sisters that evening, and on Tuesday night, Ymir is dragged to the Beta house for the big reveal ceremony. 

She is ushered into the chapter room with the other new members, guided by an excitable crowd of sisters. Someone hands Ymir a single yellow sock that she inexplicably recognizes as a fabric print of Gustav Klimt's  _The Kiss_.

"Uh," Ymir says, the sock limp in her hand.

"It'll make sense soon," the sister says, moving on to pass out more socks. That really seems to be the sorority motto, huh? 

A thick black curtain divides a portion of the chapter room, hiding whatever surprise lurks behind (it's their big sisters, obviously; they're not doing a very good job at staying quiet). Hedy emerges from around the corner, bearing a clipboard, and gathers the new members into a circle to listen to her instructions.

"Okay, girls," she says, and for the first time since Ymir's met her, she's not drinking iced coffee. "When you put your special sock on, you're gonna go up to the curtain and find your matching pair. Then we'll drop it and BAM, big reveal! Get it? Big reveal?"

"Did you have to say special sock?" Ymir asks, holding hers up. 

"What do you want me to call it, Ymir?" Hedy asks. "A friendly foot coat?"

Ymir lowers her sock. "No, that's worse, thanks." 

"This is a big moment for you guys," Hedy says. "Get it? Big moment?"

"We get it," they exclaim.

"Having a big sister is special," Hedy explains, holding her clipboard close to her chest. "This is the sister who's going to be there for you no matter what. She's your mentor in all things Greek life. She's your friend, sometimes your loco parentis, and usually one of your bridesmaids." 

"Jesus," Ymir mutters, rubbing her forehead.

Hedy throws a spare sock at her. "Don't interrupt with your cynicism."

"Sorry, it's an instinct." 

"I know, it's like your protective shield from the emotions of the outside world."

"...wait, what?"

"Ladies," Hedy exclaims, raising her voice over Ymir's confusion. "Are you ready to meet your big?!"

The new members cheer. The black curtain shakes as the sisters behind it do a very poor job of keeping it steady. They throw off their shoes, don their single socks, and finds their places in the line across the curtain, matching up with an identically socked foot that peeks out from the other side. 

Ymir stares down at her sock as the countdown to reveal begins. 

"Why did I instantly recognize this as Gustav Klimt's  _The Kiss_?" she whispers to herself.

The countdown hits zero, the sisters yelling the final number excitedly, and the curtain drops. 

"I mean, who else?" Ymir exclaims when she's finally released from Sasha's bear hug. "You're the only person I know here."

"You don't have to be so ungrateful," Sasha exclaims, reaching for an overstuffed wicker basket on the floor behind her. "I've basically been your big this whole time! Now we're just making it official."

The mass of cheering sisters disperses through the house as the new members run off for some quality bonding with their bigs, and for Sasha, that means walking halfway across campus to have a late-night mocha. She heaves the basket the whole way, refusing to unload it onto Ymir until they get their drinks and sit down. Then she shoves the basket across the table and Ymir nearly loses her breath when it slams against her chest. It's fucking filled: an official Beta Alpha Epsilon jersey, a monogrammed Beta tumbler, a couple of beautifully handcrafted bite-sized paintings that remind Ymir that Sasha is a studio art major, a mason jar full of chocolate, a throw blanket embroidered with BAE, and a brand new reusable razor. 

("You said you needed one," Sasha explains. 

"Wow, you got me Venus?" Ymir exclaims. "I was just gonna buy the shitty one-use razors that destroy your skin.")

"What the hell is all of this?" Ymir wheezes, pushing the basket away from her lungs. "You just unloaded a sorority hoarder's nest on me."

"It's time for you to have some real Beta swag," Sasha says, swirling her drink. "You've been in Beta for a few weeks, but now that you have a big- ME- and you're getting closer to initiation, it's time for you to start showing off your letters." 

She sips on her drink, watching in amusement as Ymir picks through the pile of stuff. "Also, it's just tradition to unload gifts onto your little."

"Am I expected to wear this?" Ymir asks, holding up the Beta jersey. 

She sees girls on campus wearing jerseys all the time- honestly she doesn't know why they're called that, they're just tee shirts with letters stitched on, but whatever- but she hadn't quite processed the fact that she is going to become one of those girls. She has grudgingly admitted to herself that she likes Beta so far, even if that does make her a sorority girl (whatever, okay? it's whatever! whatever, it's just, like, whatever), but she's still not sure about wearing Greek letters brazenly across her chest. That seems like bragging. 

"Yes," Sasha says. "Obviously we can't force you to do anything, but we have Jersey Thursday and stuff, so keep an eye on the calendar. You can break that bad boy in this week!"

It's not the worst jersey she's ever seen. Sasha picked out a black tee shirt (approve), and the stitched letters are constructed from a music note fabric. Ymir appreciates that in a pretentious music student kind of way. Now people can know she's a fucking artist by more than just the bassoon case she drags everywhere. 

"Thanks," Ymir says, tucking the shirt back into the pile. "I will reluctantly participate in this charade."

"Good," Sasha says, "because I got myself a matching jersey, except the pattern is watercolors instead of music notes. We'll get our cute nicknames stitched onto the back."

"I don't need a cute nickname." 

"How do you feel about mythical nicknames? I can be Athena and you can be-"

"No."

"Okay, we'll work on that."

Sasha remains suspiciously quiet for a moment, swirling her drink as Ymir shoves the bundle of stuff into the seat next to her. Ymir lets it linger for a moment, then glances across the table.

"Okay, what?" she exclaims.

Sasha is already watching her, and not being very sneaky about it. 

"Nothing," she says, shrugging. "Well, actually- I think we need to debrief Halloween."

"Nope," Ymir exclaims. "I'm good. It's not something I need to talk about now or ever."

"No, we should talk about it," Sasha says, setting her mug down. "I'd like to begin the conversation by confirming that you know bi girls are valid-"

"I know," Ymir moans, shoving her face into her hands. "Oh my god, I was drunk and stupid and didn't mean any of it." 

"I know you didn't," Sasha says. She leans back in her chair and starts working her hair into a bun. "I just wanted to make sure."

"God, I'm stupid," Ymir mutters. She drags her hands down her face, stretching her eyelids to reveal the red as she groans, then drops her hands onto the table and huffs. "Like, what the hell does she think of me now?" 

"Probably that you're biphobic-"

"I got that part, thank you," Ymir sighs. She drops her chin onto the table. "I mean, you know literally none of the backstory to this situation, except for whatever you saw at the homecoming thing, which, honestly, I don't even know what happened anymore, but still, I've basically ruined my life- not just my chances with Historia, but my actual fucking life."

Sasha finishes tying up her hair, then shakes out her bangs to let them settle. 

"Everyone was out of their mind that night," she says. "I mean, you did yell at her in front of the whole party, but we were all pretty much gone, so maybe it's not quite as bad as it seems."

"Oh, yeah," Ymir exclaims, her eyes growing wide. "You were there."

Sasha stares at her. "Yeah, you invited me."

"I didn't see you for a while," Ymir says. "Reiner and Bertholdt took me home, and- oh my god, every time I say their names, I remember that I made them fight, shit."

"I should have texted you when I left," Sasha says, cupping her hands around the warmth of her mug. "But everyone scattered when the police showed up, and you were wasted, so I, uh, figured it would be okay to just leave." 

Her nonchalant tone is suspicious. Ymir raises her head from the table, narrowing her eyes. 

"You left alone?"

Sasha fidgets with her mug. "Yes. I mean, no, but don't worry, I wasn't getting laid."

"Good, so you didn't fuck the flutist."

"No," Sasha exclaims, and ha, she actually flushes. "But I did, uh, walk Historia home."

"What!?" Ymir shrieks, slamming her hands on the table.

The coffee shop falls silent.

Ymir glances over her shoulder. "Sorry, nothing to see here, folks."

She turns back to Sasha as the crowd begins minding their own god damn business again.

"What did she say!?" Ymir hisses. 

"Nothing," Sasha exclaims. She raises her hands in defense. "Honestly, we didn't really talk. I don't think she knows who I am, just that I'm a Beta, but you know, sorority girls, we've got to look out for each other. I've had Zetas walk me home before."

She brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I didn't even think about the fact that she was, you know, the girl you were yelling at. And then by the time I realized, it would have been way too weird to bring it up."

"Did she seem okay though?" Ymir asks, leaning in across the table. "Like, you don't think she went home and wrote my name in a burn book?"

Sasha's face contorts uncomfortably. "I mean. She was crying." 

"Fuck," Ymir mutters, dropping her forehead against the table. "I made Historia cry, I made Reiner and Bertholdt cry- I mean, I've seen Reiner cry, he does it every time a Carly Rae song comes on the radio, but Bertholdt?" 

She glances up at Sasha. "I've fucked everything up."

Sasha raises her mug in a toast. "I didn't hear any of that, but cheers! It happens to the best of us." 

"I'm not kidding, Sasha. I fucked up."

"I'm not kidding either," Sasha says. She takes a sip of her drink and wipes away a whipped cream mustache. "We've all been there."

"But you guys are so put together," Ymir protests, slumping back in her seat, her iced mocha clutched tightly in one hand. It's fucking cold outside, why did she order this? "Everyone in Beta has their shit together. And then there's me."

Sasha snorts. "You need to spend more time at the Beta house."

Ymir furrows her brow. "Huh?"

"We're all completely fucked up."

"But you're all so smart and athletic and I bet you're getting a lot of dick or whatever straight girls are into these days."

Sasha takes a long sip from her mug, holding up a finger. "I haven't had dick in a solid year."

"Not even with that annoying guy in our anthro class? The one who you borrow a pencil from every fucking day?"

"Okay, first of all, don't come for my pencil habits like that. I lose things. That's my brand."

"Okay, fine. Second?"

"Second," Sasha exclaims. "You're talking about Marco, right?"

"Sure. That's a stupid fucking name."

"Sometimes I do think he's hitting on me," Sasha says. "But he has this weird thing for Jean. Do you know Jean?"

_Does she know  _   _Jean_ , the most obnoxious flutist in the world. 

"Ew," Ymir exclaims. " _Ew_ , Jean?" 

"Well, that's what I said at first, but I guess I can't tease Marco about it anymore, because Jean and I may have made out at the Halloween party-"

"Ew," Ymir exclaims. "Wait, is Jean the flutist you called cute? Sasha,  _no_."

"He's a good kisser," Sasha protests.

"I have to watch him make out with a flute every fucking day. He is not a good kisser."

Sasha wipes a dab of whipped cream from the rim of her mug. "But do you see what I mean? We all have shit going on. Have you not heard about everything with Annie and Mikasa?”

Ymir's eyebrows skyrocket. "Holy shit, did they sleep together?"

"What?"

"Sasha, they've definitely slept together. Or they should, at least."

"Well, maybe. But if they have, then they're just pretending like it never happened."

Ymir snorts. "Classic." 

"No, but seriously," Sasha says. "There's a lot of shit going on right now because Annie has this weird thing for Eren- you met him on Halloween, right? She won't talk to him, but we all know that she likes him. But Mikasa's not cool with it because she and Eren kind of had a thing, and I think she still has it for him-"

"So they're not dating," Ymir interrupts. 

"No, they're foster siblings or something."

Ymir stares at her. "That... does not answer my question."

"But then Eren's not really into either of them," Sasha continues, "because he has this thing for Armin. You met Armin, right? He's on all the school flyers because the administration loves him. He won a bunch of awards or something smart like that. But he and Eren have been friends forever, I guess, and apparently Eren is super into him but Armin has no idea, and then yesterday, actually, someone was just telling me that he and Jean might be having a thing? And now I don't know how to feel, because Armin is way too good for Jean- we all are, I don't know what my problem is- but I want Jean to see someone other than Marco because I know Marco and when he's in a relationship he literally stops existing, so I'll have to bring my own pencils to anthropology, which I don't even know why I'm taking it, because art history fulfilled my writing credit and I'm really not good at writing essays anyways." 

She sets her mug down. "Anyways, that's where things stand right now."

"Jesus," Ymir exclaims. "You guys live like real housewives."

"My point is that we're all fucked up," Sasha says. "I mean, I've never seen anyone pull a stunt quite like you did-"

"Thanks."

"-but we can all relate," she finishes. 

Ymir sucks on her frozen mocha, then sighs and sits upright. "Fine, I get it. Life is a beautiful mess or whatever."

"Exactly."

"But it's not just about Historia," Ymir says. "I mean, that's definitely the worst thing I've ever done in my life and I completely understand if she never wants to talk to me again. But I made Reiner and Bertholdt fight. They've never fought about anything."

Sasha takes a sip of her drink. "It was probably overdue then."

"...what?"

"I know that you have an unhealthy idolization of their relationship or whatever-"

"...okay, why is everyone suddenly dropping truth bombs on me?"

"-but it doesn't sound like they were too solid to begin with," Sasha finishes. "I'm not sure if you can blame this on yourself. There's probably a lot going on beneath the surface that's been boiling to a breaking point."

"No," Ymir exclaims, smacking her cup down on the table. "You can't say things like that, Sasha. Their relationship is literally the cornerstone of my life. It's the only good thing left in the world. I don't know what I would do if they broke up. Oh my god, I feel unclean just thinking about it."

Sasha stares at her. 

"Plus," Ymir continues, "it would be really weird because they're, like, stand partners and roommates and- oh my god, it would be so weird, I would rather both of them just fucking die than have to deal with the fallout of that break up."

"Alright," Sasha says. "So later we're going to talk about healthy boundaries."

"No, thanks, we've already delved way too deep into my psyche." 

"For now," she continues, "I think it's best to get some of this guilt off your chest. You're never going to live this down unless you try to make amends."

"Again: no, thanks."

"You should apologize to Historia."

Ymir's eyes pop open. "I swear to god- Sasha? Hey, Sasha?"

Sasha swipes a smear of whipped cream from the top of her cup. "Yeah?"

Ymir leans in dramatically, her hands smacked flat across the table. "I've been fucking trying," she hisses. "I wrote like twelve hundred messages and deleted every single one of them because there's no way she wants to hear anything from me, especially a rambling apology. Remember when I called her a fake lesbian?"

"I don't remember the exact words," Sasha says. "But yeah, it was something to that effect."

"Yeah, okay, well, there you have it," Ymir exclaims. She jerks back in her chair with a huff, nearly knocking her drink off the table. "I can never look her in the eye again and I will take this guilt to my grave. It was nice knowing you."

"It's the right thing to do," Sasha insists.

"Thanks, lawful good, but it's fucking not."

"I know you have never played D&D," Sasha says, pushing her mug aside- she was only interested in the whipped cream, apparently, because most of the coffee remains. "So congratulations on the correct reference. But just think about it. It'll lift a weight from your shoulders, knowing you made the effort, and it's what Historia deserves."

Sasha is right, of course. But Ymir lets the guilt eat at her. 

She spends the week after Halloween slipping in and out of Saber, running from practice rooms to quartet rehearsals, to meetings with Dr. Mikkelsen to check in on her junior recital progress. He insists on making appointments throughout the week to critique her program, and Ymir has to believe that this new level of evil is just some serious tough love. She has to believe that, because she's about at her wit's end with Dr. M, and if he tells her that she's flat one more time, she might lose it. 

Not to mention, she still has music history, which she genuinely forgets about, then remembers, then lies in bed, horrified, instead of going to that class. She can't skip symphony rehearsal, because Dr. M would definitely kick her out of the music school, but she does her very best to be nonchalant: she slinks in quietly, plays her part, and disappears. 

Maybe the guilt is a good thing after all. Ymir spends a record amount of time in the practice rooms that week, holing up there between lessons and rehearsals to play through her entire recital program again and, hopefully, forget about everything else. 

She's totally just hiding. If she locks the door and pulls the curtains down, no one will even know she's in there. 

Being alone for a while may not be a bad thing. Before this year, before she ended up in Beta, that was how she spent most of her days anyways, shuffling back and forth between class and the dorms; and now that she's being productive while alone, she can convince herself that it's acceptable. 

Of course, it's hard to truly be alone on a college campus, especially as a sorority member. Her phone goes off constantly, with chapter emails and group chat texts and invitations to socials. She does let Sasha drag her to a football tailgate that weekend, if only because her lips are fucking sore from so much practice, but she stays on brand and sits alone in the corner nursing a beer while the festivities carry on around her. Even that turns her stomach, and she ends up leaving early. 

Ymir spends that evening sitting at her desk, staring at her calendar. She's never been one to diligently keep track of things, but she had marked one event down for this weekend: the chamber orchestra concert. She added that months ago, after Reiner and Bertholdt gave her such a hard time for dropping out of chamber; she'd promised she'd go to the concert.  

She wonders if she should reach out, but just like with her messages to Historia, she struggles to find words that have any meaning. She just doesn't know what to say.  _Sorry, I'm a mess? Sorry, I made your lives a mess too?_ She knows without asking that there's more going on beneath the surface. As much as she is loathe to admit it, Sasha is probably right about Reiner and Bertholdt's relationship; they've never fought in the year and a half they've been dating, and probably not even in the dozen years they've been friends.

And what's more than that, Ymir should have seen this coming. She's known Reiner long enough to be privy to silent treatment episodes before, and she knows that sometimes things are hard for him. Okay, things are frequently pretty hard for him, but every once in a while, he spirals.

But it's fine. It's always fine. It might take him a few days to get back on track, but he's always fine. 

Ymir stares at her phone. Halloween was last week. Seven days, and still nothing.

She fumbles with the keyboard on her phone, testing a pathetic apology as she spins in her desk chair, whirling back and forth in silence. Her message doesn't make any sense. She deletes it without rereading it. 

She should go to the concert.

Should she go to the concert? 

There's one more important date on her calendar, one that she's been refusing to look at out of pure fear: the junior recital dress rehearsals. They're just a few weeks away now. Honestly, the dress rehearsal terrifies her more than her actual recital. This is her last real chance. If she's not ready by then, she never will be. What's worse, they have their dress rehearsals in front of the entire junior class of the music school, and, of course, Dr. Mikkelsen. And it's always a bloodbath. Ymir has heard horror stories.

Dr. M will destroy her on stage in front of god and everyone else if she doesn't have her shit together by the dress rehearsal, which is in- oh, what, just like three or four weeks? Right after Thanksgiving break? And everyone knows that November is the shortest month of the year (at least it feels that way in college- one minute it's Halloween, then BAM, finals), so that four weeks is going to fly by like four days. 

She sinks down in her seat, knees tucked up against her chest, and sighs.

She doesn't go to the concert. Reiner doesn't text.

The next day passes in a blur. Ymir phases between fixating on her phone, waiting for a message that she knows won't come, and hiding it from herself, burying it deep in the crevices of her backpack as she treks to the Beta house on Sunday afternoon. She's busy through the whole evening anyways, with another new member education meeting led enthusiastically by Sasha (who gives Ymir a terrible side-eye for not following her advice), and then the regular chapter meeting after that.

Ymir manages to put everything else out of her mind for a while, as she lets the drone of chapter updates continue around her. They're having a sisterhood retreat in lieu of a formal. Iota Xi's philanthropy week is soon, and they're all expected to participate. Community service hours are due by the end of the month. 

Another week begins. 

Ymir has her final recital meeting with Dr. Mikkelsen on Monday. He'll give her his last notes, some final words of warning, and then he'll send her off into the great unknown to work herself to death until the dress rehearsals, so he can tear her apart all over again. 

She's not ready for this. Like, god, she would kill for the recital to just be here already, because that's the fun part- actually getting onstage and doing her thing. But at the same time, that's exactly what she's afraid of. Finishing her junior recital means being one step closer to being a senior, one step closer to graduation. And graduation means probable unemployment until Starbucks takes pity on her, and then defending her decision to get a music degree for the rest of her life. It was a stupid choice, Mom, but it was  _her_  stupid choice. 

It means that things are happening. Life is happening, and as shitty as this semester has been so far, Ymir is not sure she's ready to move forward. 

**Text from Ymir**  
i just feel like death is imminent anyways  
like the universe is going to be destroyed so why do i need to do things and be a real adult  
you know

**Text from Sasha**  
you sound like sean 

**Text from Ymir**  
tell ur creepy painting professor to stop squashing my groove

**Text from Sasha**  
i don't know if it's a great groove to have anyways  
it seems a little too existintial   
existienial   
???

**Text from Ymir**  
i get u

**Text from Sasha**  
why doesn't autocorrect have my back on this one??

Ymir drags herself out of bed on Monday morning to work in a few hours of practice before Dr. Mikkelsen cuts her loose to the world. She still hates him, but he's been slightly less of a dickbag this semester. And she needs his final notes so she can slay at her recital. And by sly, she means achieve a passable grade, because she's still pretty sure that Dr. M hates her too, so that's probably the best she can hope for at this point. Like, why become an overachiever now? 

She meets Sasha for coffee at an hour too early for normal conversation and slinks down into her seat when a group of Zeta Chis claim the table next to them. 

Sasha gives her a look. 

"What?" Ymir hisses. She tugs her scarf up over her chin. God, she hopes they don't know who she is.

"You know what," Sasha says, jerking her head to gesture at the Zeta Chis. 

"God, you're terrible at whispering," Ymir mutters.

"I'm great at whispering," Sasha says, demonstrating to prove her point. She clears her throat. "I'm just not great at talking in a low secret voice to hide from people."

"I'm not hiding," Ymir says, reaching for her coffee cup. God, it's already empty. She's going to need a lot more caffeine to get through this week.

"You're totally hiding."

"Fine, maybe I am."

"If it makes you feel better," Sasha says, leaning in, warm mug clutched between her hands, "I think everyone has forgotten about Halloween already.”

"That does make me feel better, thanks."

"I mean, everyone knows about it," Sasha says. She raises the mug to her lips. “They’re just distracted by the imminent terror of finals.”

"Great," Ymir sighs, setting down her empty cup. "So, on top of being a fuck up, I'm now a totally public fuck up. Cool."

"I told you to stop calling yourself a fuck up."

"Just let me wallow," Ymir mutters. She tugs her scarf away from her face. "I'm about to spend the next month of my life practicing 24/7, so I feel like I've earned a little self pity."

Sasha doesn't try to argue that one. She just shrugs and waves Ymir off to Saber Hall, which is about to be Ymir's home for the next four weeks. She should just book a practice room straight through til the end of the semester. 

She finds an empty space and unpacks her bassoon in silence. Saber is unusually quiet this morning; Mondays aren't exactly a peak time, but still, she thought there'd be more people here this late in the semester. Juniors have recitals, underclassmen have juries, and seniors- well, they've probably all just died. 

But it makes for a good rehearsal. Saber's walls aren't as soundproof as they claim to be, and Ymir's practice sessions are usually interrupted multiple times by a freshmen banging out horrid melodies for their keyboarding class, or worse, a violinist shattering windows and eardrums with the worst sound in the world.

This morning, though, it's quiet, calm. Ymir sits down with her bassoon and takes a deep breath. It's peaceful, if she can forget about everything else. 

For a few moments, she does. There is nothing but her and her bassoon: the song of sweet, mournful rhythms pulling through familiar sonatas, until the set finally comes to an end. 

She's good. She'll be fine. This, at least, is going to be okay. 

Her phone blares with an alarm that for once she had the foresight to set, and then she scrambles to pack up her bassoon and rush downstairs for her final meeting with Dr. Mikkelsen. She is just rounding the corner towards the stairwell when she hears a pair of familiar voices coming from an open door, and she stops suddenly.

"You don't have to worry about it," Bertholdt is saying.

Ymir presses herself against the wall and tries to breathe very quietly. 

"I'm not trying to intrude," Marcel replies. He speaks softer, but his words still carry to Ymir, the echo of a conversation that she should probably not be overhearing. "But it's hard not to be worried, especially after what happened this summer-"

"I know," Bertholdt says, cutting him off. "And thank you, but it's really none of your business."

Marcel hesitates for a moment before answering. Then he says, "Okay. I won't ask again."

His footsteps sound against the linoleum, and for a moment, Ymir holds her breath. She considers dashing back to the safety of her practice room, out of sight. But he walks the other way, his cello case wheeling along behind him; when he's gone, she lets out a sigh. 

God, that was fucking close. She knows exactly what that conversation was about, but she was definitely not invited to be a part of it. God, imagine if they had caught her listening-

"Hi," Bertholdt says abruptly.

"Jesus," Ymir yells. 

She stands upright and clutches her bassoon case, trying to look as casual as possible.

"Hi," she says. "I wasn't listening to that."

Bertholdt's stoic expression doesn't change. "Uh-huh."

God, she's going to die.

"Hey, Bertholdt," Ymir sighs, shifting her weight awkwardly. "It's been, like, a week, and, uh, I know things have been weird-"

"Yeah," Bertholdt says, then nothing else.

Ymir stares at him. "...cool. So, is that it?"

"Can you call him?" Bertholdt asks. He rubs his forehead. "Or maybe not. I don't know. I really don't fucking know."

He has a folder of sheet music in one arm, and he shuffles it around in the terrible silence that follows.

"I have to go," he says. "I have lessons, but, uh..."

He trails off, his gaze lost. Then he shrugs. "See you at symphony."

He disappears down the hallway, his footsteps echoing against the long walls, and Ymir stands, still, silent, a knot forming in her stomach.


	10. in the darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously on soul sisters: ymir received some sisterly advice. this week: she's dealt some tough love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning! this chapter depicts marijuana use.

"You're late," Dr. Mikkelsen says. 

Ymir lets his office door slam shut behind her. He can kiss her ass. She's late for good reason; she just overheard a weird, cryptic conversation that she could only half-decipher, and then was left with a very ominous sign: a distressed, indecisive Bertholdt, something she has never seen before and never wants to see again. She took a few minutes to collect herself after that abrupt conversation before dashing downstairs to make her meeting with Dr. Mikkelsen, and, of course, she rolled up five minutes late. 

"Only five minutes," Ymir says, but he cuts her off. 

"Tardiness often robs us opportunity," Dr. Mikkelsen says, glancing up at her over the rim of his glasses, "and the dispatch of our forces."

Ymir stares at him. "...who said that?"

"Machiavelli, of course."

"Ah, of course. My bad."

He sets down the sheet music folder in his hands and turns in his seat to face her fully. There's a chair placed just before her, which she grudgingly steps towards as he gestures to it. 

"Let's hear your program," he says.

Ymir pauses, halfway through unpacking her bassoon again. "The whole thing?"

"Of course."

"...this office is kind of small, you know, I'm not sure about the acoustics in here-"

"Play." 

She snaps the last joint of her bassoon together and sits down. "Okay. Great. I'm incredibly prepared for this." 

Ymir was prepared, honestly. She just finished an amazing practice session, a run through of her entire program, just her and the bassoon alone in Saber's quiet morning halls, and she actually felt good about her recital. For once, she felt confident that she could nail a review with Dr. Mikkelsen, that she might actually receive something other than the same old criticism or lukewarm acceptance of her effort. 

But she feels off-balance now, something uncomfortable stirring in her stomach as she tries not to think about the weird conversation she just endured. She can't keep letting herself get thrown off by every little thing that happens. 

She adjusts the bassoon slung across her lap, shifting her fingers into position to begin the first piece. Really, thirty minutes is not that long to be on stage. It's not an extraordinary amount of time by any means, especially considering some of the lengthy symphonic concerts that Ymir has endured in the last few years; but thirty minutes on stage, alone, before a crowd, for a grade that will determine her future- that's a bit more harrowing. And playing her entire program for just Dr. Mikkelsen, sitting five feet away from him? That's an exact nightmare that she's had.

She takes a breath. It could be worse. Right now, she doesn't know how, but she has to believe that. 

When Ymir finishes the last song in her program, drawing out the final note, then cutting abruptly, the way Dr. Mikkelsen has been suggesting she do all along, he says nothing. He sits there for a moment, then another, simply staring at her over the rim of his glasses. Did she do it wrong? She probably did a lot of things wrong, but that ending has been something he's nitpicked about all semester. Did she finally fuck it up so badly that he's just going to fail her right now? 

"Hm," Dr. Mikkelsen says finally. 

Ymir stares at him, bassoon still clutched across her lap. "So, like..."

"You've improved," he continues, cutting her off. He sits back in his seat, watching her. "You've been practicing." 

"Well, yeah, I guess I've been, like, depressed a lot lately, so it's kind of the only thing to do-"

"I'm not finished."

"...sorry." 

"Ymir, you have worked harder this semester than you have in you entire time at this school," Dr. Mikkelsen says. "None of the faculty thought you would make it this far. I was shocked when you managed to pass your jury last year. I was not shocked when you sabotaged your chances at being in the summer tour, but despite that setback, you returned this fall and worked hard to prove yourself."

He nods at her. "If you continue like this, you may succeed after all."

Ymir furrows her brow. "Thanks, I guess. That was... inspiring?" 

"But," he says suddenly, and there it is, of course there's a but. 

"You're holding yourself back," Dr. Mikkelsen says. 

Ymir looks at him. "I've worked my ass off this semester. You just said that."

"Your work ethic has improved," he says, "but you're still struggling to maintain balance. You're allowing yourself to be hindered by your insecurities. Whether or not those insecurities come from your music, it doesn't matter. By allowing them to influence you, you are preventing yourself from reaching your full potential."

He leans forward in his chair. "I've been watching you while you play. In here, in the symphony- you have not been present. Your body makes the motions of music, but your mind is elsewhere, always occupied by something else. 

"I don't pretend to know my students lives'," Dr. Mikkelsen finishes, sitting back again. "But it's clear you are distracted. Unless you can achieve balance in your life, you cannot truly succeed."

Ymir stares at him, her eyes wide. 

_Fuck_. 

"Okay," she says after a moment, setting her bassoon down across her legs. "Uh... okay, I mean, I don't know what the fuck to say to that, Dr. M."

He turns back to his desk, reaching for a folder from the stacks of sheet music that line the tabletop. "Don't say anything. Just find balance."

"Find balance," Ymir repeats. "Got it."

She doesn't fucking got it. Find balance? What does he want her to do- yoga? Ugh. That's too close to sports. 

"That's my only note for you today," Dr. Mikkelsen says. He turns back around, glancing down at the folder in his hands, and rifles through the papers within. "Keep practicing, keep in mind the technical notes I've given you, and find balance."

Ymir slumps back in her seat, weirdly relieved, but also very confused and slightly afraid. "Cool. Sounds easy."

He glances at a paper. "Is Reiner Braun still accompanying you on piano?" 

Ah, shit. 

That decision was made a long time ago. Ymir didn't even ask him before submitting his name to Dr. Mikkelsen as her accompanist. Their brand of friendship doesn't allow for much choice in such matters. And he agreed, after she'd already signed him up for it. Of course he'd agreed. He'd agree if she punched him in the face and smashed his nuts in the lock of his cello case.

But it's been, oh, like, just over a week since Halloween? Just a week since they last talked? Just a week since she made everyone fight and cry, and just forty-five minutes since she watched Bertholdt spiral in a sink of helplessness? 

"Yep," Ymir says. "He sure is."

Dr. Mikkelsen scratches something into his notes. "Make sure to remind him. He missed a lesson this week. That's unlike him, so make sure he is clear on this." 

Ymir swallows. "Uh-huh."

"And schedule a rehearsal in the recital hall."

"Will do." 

As soon as he dismisses her, Ymir dashes to the booking calendar to hastily throw her name up for an hour next week (the schedule is fucking packed, by the way, Dr. M, because everyone with a recital or jury has had the same idea, trying to squeeze in a personal dress rehearsal between concerts and everything else), then collapses against the wall and slides to the floor, winded. 

She should text Reiner, at the very least. She should go see him, actually, because if he's missed a lesson, then he's in a deeper downward spiral than she thought. She should have known that this was bad, though. The silence, the absence, and then Bertholdt losing his mind trying to both fight with and take care of his boyfriend...

But the knot in her stomach is tight, and she can't bear to confront him today. Tomorrow. She'll go see him tomorrow. 

Tonight, she has a special Beta meeting. Something about more new member education, even though they've been hammering at that for weeks and Ymir thinks she has learned about all that she ever will. Not that Sasha's not a good teacher, but the subject matter is, frankly, just dreary- Beta's symbolism, Beta's history, Beta's traditions, Beta's songs, Beta's poems, Beta's secret knock. The secret knock was the only interesting thing, and even that was not that interesting. 

The other new members at the meeting have bulging notebooks, full of scribbled pen marks and shiny stickers. The pages are stuffed with every leaflet and handout they've been given this semester, the papers that Ymir usually just shoves in the bottom of her backpack; now, as they wait for the meeting to begin, tucked cozily among the couches in the Beta common room, the girls organize their notes, sorting meticulously through the papers, deciding what to keep and what to toss. Ymir watches them from her armchair, her gaze distant. In her lap sits the enormous binder that she was given at the first new member meeting, the letters of Beta Alpha Epsilon emblazoned across the front in gold script, and though she's shoved a few relevant papers inside, her collection is measly compared to that of the girls around her.

She swears she's been to every single meeting. Sasha would not let her miss even one. Sometimes, she even pays attention. Still, she never thought to, like, actually take notes, or to organize her handouts chronologically, or to color code everything and memorize the entire history of the sorority. 

That's what these girls have done, apparently. 

Ymir has fit into Beta better than she thought she would. Even after her grand romantic plans failed, she figured that she'd never really get along with the other girls, especially the other new members, who are all overly enthusiastic freshmen. In some ways, she still doesn't. She’s not nearly as thrilled as they are about every little detail, and she still struggles to dress professionally every Sunday for chapter meetings, while the rest of the new members seem to take delight in the novelty of business casual attire.

Despite that, she’s managed to get along with the new members, at least for the most part. They seem to be in awe of her aloofness, like somehow that’s something to be achieved, and they’re all fascinated by the junior wisdom she bestows upon them. Really, she just says shit like, “I haven’t slept in three days” and they’re all, “wow, Ymir, you work so hard,” even though she doesn’t, really, she’s just been watching a lot of Netflix.

New member education, though, seems to be the part of Beta she's been flagging in, because everyone else has been taking meticulous notes for weeks, and here's Ymir, with a big fat binder she's barely even opened. And apparently, there's a test today. 

"Okay, ladies," Sasha exclaims, waving her hands to get their attention. She is obviously fresh from a session in the art studio, because although she's managed to keep paint off her clothes, she has also managed to stain it across her hands and face. It's a talent, honestly. 

She stands over the new members, smiling. "Welcome to your last new member ed class," she says, then clutches her hands to her heart. "I'm so happy to see you guys get one step closer to being official Beta sisters. So who's ready to ace this test and get ready for initiation?" 

The new members cheer. 

Ymir leans over to the girl next to her. "Hey, what the fuck? We have a test."

The girl stifles a laugh. "That's what we've been preparing for this whole time."

"I thought we were just, like, learning shit for fun."

"It shouldn't be that hard," the girl says. "You can use any notes you took. You took notes, right?"

Ymir stares at her. "No."

"I don't want anybody to panic," Sasha says, pulling out a stack of papers. "It's not an actual test, of course. It's not like we can really fail you."

"Oh, thank god," Ymir mutters.

"But you should take it seriously," Sasha continues. "We've spent these last couple of weeks learning about the history of Beta and the importance of this sisterhood, and it's something that you should know inside and out as a fully-fledged sister. So, you do have to pass this test in order to move on to initiation."

Ymir still doesn't know what initiation actually is, other than that there may or may not be a blood oath; either way, it's the process that makes her an official Beta sister. And she still doesn't know if that's something she wants.

"If you don't pass," Sasha says as she hands out the test, "you'll have to retake it. And numerous retakes may delay your initiation until next semester."

Ymir raises her hand. "Hey, uh, what's the score we need to pass?" 

"It's an open book test, Ymir," Sasha says. "You can use your notes."

"Cool, cool, but just to clarify- the passing score?"

"I feel like you can manage an 80%." 

"...yeah, totally."

She does not manage an 80%, although to be fair she does not remember being warned that a) there was a test and b) the test was open book. Then again, it's probably that she was just tuned out when those key facts were announced. She's not the only one to fail, judging by the freshman crying as she leaves from the room, but she is the only one who gets a personal lecture from Sasha.

"Ymir," Sasha exclaims, throwing an arm across the common room door to block her. She smiles. "Let's chat."

"I'm actually late for class," Ymir says.

"It's eight p.m."

Well, that almost worked.

Sasha sits her down at a couch in the corner of the common room and hands her back her abysmal test with a 40% scrawled at the top in red ink. Yeah, Ymir already knew that she failed. She could have gone without knowing that specific grade. And red ink, really?

"First of all," Sasha says, "you have brought dishonor on our family."

Ymir blinks. "What?"

"I'm the new member coordinator," Sasha exclaims, "and my little fails her initiation test?"

"In my defense," Ymir says, holding up the paper, "this is one of my better test scores."

"I know you haven't been taking notes," Sasha says. "There's only, like, twenty of you. It's not that hard to figure out who's paying attention."

"Well, that's kind of your fault for not yelling at me more, then."

"I thought you just had a good memory," Sasha says. She narrows her eyes. "But I guess I should've known. You're not really the type to take notes or to memorize everything."

"No, I'm usually the type to get a 40%."

"Ymir, listen," Sasha says with a sigh. "I know this is all kind of superficial, especially being an upperclassmen. You've got a lot of other things going on with your recital and everything. But it's not really about the test score. We just want to know that you're serious about being a Beta, and that means you have to understand what it means to be a Beta."

Ymir nods slowly, but she's not sure she likes where this conversation is going. 

"Sorority history is important to us," Sasha continues. "I mean, we were founded a hundred years ago as a place for college women to belong and to share their experiences. They didn't have a lot of other options, and they put a lot of work into creating this sisterhood for women down the line. For women like us."

Sasha tucks her hair behind her eyes. "I'm not trying to be preachy or whatever. I'm just asking you to think about it. We have fun and everything, but Beta means so much more than that. So I want you to think about what Beta means for you and what you're willing to put in for it. Then we'll talk about initiation."

Ymir blinks. "Oh, so, you're, like, giving me an ultimatum...?"

"I'm being honest with you," Sasha says. "We've had girls who've dropped out, and we don't hold it against them. I think you fit in well here, but we're not kidding when we say that sorority life isn't for everyone."

She scrunches her face into a sickly sweet smile. "And no matter what, you'll always be my little."

Ymir grimaces. "Ew, stop, please." 

At least Sasha isn't going to fuck around with her. Ymir appreciates the honesty, even if it's a bit of a revelation to her. Well, it really shouldn't be, considering that she hasn't been the most enthusiastic new member, and she definitely joined Beta under false pretenses, and she's spent her whole pledge period totally intending to drop out before initiation... 

So, actually, this should not be a surprise to her at all, in the slightest. 

Still, she's (ugh, she'll admit it) been having a good time in Beta. She's gone to some events, made a few friends. She scored a hockey goal, for fuck's sakes. She didn't think she was doing that bad. 

Ymir realizes, with a turn of her stomach as she leaves the Beta house, bound for yet another late night rehearsal in Saber, that this is what Dr. Mikkelsen means. His words spoke to her instantly, without thinking about it, already understanding the drama that she'd put herself through this semester.

But it really hits her now, what he means by balance. She is living between worlds: one foot inside Beta Alpha Epsilon, wanting more; the other still holding onto the outside, the familiar, the cynical and unafraid. And there's more. She thought she was moving past what happened on Halloween, but she's keeping herself from going forward, terrified of what Historia will say when they see each other again. And she's been avoiding Reiner and Bertholdt, too nervous to accept the damage she did, to find out what's going to happen to them. 

She seriously stops on the sidewalk outside of Saber to catch her breath. She's blowing her own fucking mind. God damn it, are her problems this obvious to everyone but herself?

Okay, okay, she can't practice with her mind running like this. It's exactly what Dr. M was talking about: she's fucking everywhere right now, and it's getting her nowhere. She has to find a way to clear her mind, to let go of all the shit and be zen or whatever. Fuck, she's gonna have to do yoga, isn't she?

Saber's front door swings open silently, and out steps Annie, the hoodie of her BAE sweatshirt tucked over her head. 

(Side note: are Reiner and Bertholdt idiots? Ymir has seen her wear that hoodie at least once a fucking week, yet they've never been able to figure out what sorority she's in.)

Annie glances up from her phone and nods at Ymir. "Sup."

Ymir nods back. "Sup."

"What are you doing out here?" Annie asks, adjusting her backpack. She's one-strapping it, and is definitely the only person Ymir knows who can actually pull it off without looking like a desperate wannabe tween. 

Ymir shrugs, still parked firmly in the middle of the sidewalk, her bassoon case hanging limply from one arm. "Just having an existential crisis." 

"Cool," Annie says, nodding. "Wanna get high?" 

Ymir is not expecting that to be a serious offer when she jokingly says yes, so she's not quite sure how she ends up in the passenger seat of Annie's car five minutes later, passing a pipe back and forth in a tired attempt to hotbox a 1995 Honda. 

"So," Annie says after a few minutes, taking the pipe Ymir hands back to her. "What happened?" 

"Oh, thank god," Ymir exclaims, throwing her head back in her seat. "At least not everyone has heard. Look, I don't really want to get into it again-"

"No, I know what happened at the Halloween party," Annie says. She reclines her seat and slouches back. "You accused one of Zeta's vice presidents of being a fake lesbian."

Ymir sinks lower into her seat. "I really wish people would stop saying it like that."

"Isn't that what happened?"

"...well, yeah, but-"

"That's not what I'm talking about anyways," Annie says. She flicks the lighter and pauses to take a puff. "I mean, what happened with Reiner and Bertholdt?"

Oh, that's even worse. 

"There's been weird vibes in the cello section," Annie explains. "Dr. M got pissed at them in chamber the other day, and somehow I ended up getting yelled at."

"Well, what else are bassists for?"

Annie clicks the lighter at her.

"Jesus," Ymir mutters, jerking away. "I don't really know what's happening, honestly. I mean, does it seem like they're talking to each other?"

"Dunno," Annie says. "Is that what happened? They're fighting?"

Ymir glumly takes the pipe and lighter that Annie shoves her way. 

"I mean," she says as she lights it. She takes a huff. "I think so. I guess. I don't know, man. I thought they would have made up by now."

"So, they're fighting."

"They fought," Ymir says. "Or maybe they still are. It's, like, all my fault, of course, because they've never fought before, like never ever, and then I fucked up and they had to take care of me, so, like, yeah, you get the rest."

Annie purses her lips. "Doesn't sound healthy."

Ymir glances at her. "What?"

"I'm just saying," Annie says, plucking the lighter out of Ymir's hands. "A good fight is probably overdue."

"Okay, this isn't a boxing match-"

"No, it's a relationship," Annie says. "It's not supposed to be easy."

"What the hell do you know about relationships?"

Annie looks her dead in the eye. "What do you know about relationships?"

She grabs the pipe too. "Don't say anything. I already know the answer."

Ymir sighs. "Sasha said the same thing. And then I told her not to say shit like that, because I literally can't imagine a world where Reiner and Bertholdt aren't together, I mean, like, what the fuck would I do? Just drop out of school, I guess. I couldn't live here anymore."

She glances sideways, watching Annie inhale, then blow out a perfect cloud. "Okay, I definitely would not have guessed that you smoke."

"Do you know a single music student who doesn't smoke?" 

"Marcel," Ymir says instantly. "He's definitely into edibles."

"Untrue," Annie says. "I've smoked with him."

"Shit, Annie. Why haven't I ever been invited here before?"

"I've literally never had any reason to talk to you before," Annie says, slouching down in her seat. "Don't smoke with Marcel. He's fucking paranoid." 

"Duly noted," Ymir says, as if that is something she would ever do. 

Annie holds out the pipe, but Ymir shakes her head. "So, what's happened since Halloween?" Annie asks. "I gave them a week to sort their shit out, but things are still weird. They're throwing off the whole string section. It's fucking annoying."

"I don't really know," Ymir sighs. "I've been running away from my problems like an adult."

"Hm."

Ymir looks at her. "What?"

"What makes you think it's your fault?" 

"They were fighting about me," Ymir exclaims. "Because I was being a fuck-up, as usual, and Reiner was trying to make me less of a fuck-up, but then Bertholdt was trying to get him to let me just ruin my life, because, like, that's my own problem, not anyone else's. And he's right, you know, like they've been dealing with my shit all semester- all this time, really."

She scoots down in her seat and throws her feet up onto the dashboard. "Don't know if I could get Reiner to admit that though."

"Because of his massive hero complex," Annie says.

Ymir glances at her, brow furrowed. "I didn't think you knew them that well." 

"I've stood behind them for two and a half years," Annie says drily. "You would not believe the things I have overheard."

"Please don't share." 

"Either way," Annie says, lighting the pipe again, "they're still fighting."

"I guess so, yeah." 

"I know it's not your problem," Annie says, "but you need to get them to fix it." 

Ymir rolls her head back and stares up at the ceiling. "I don't know how. I keep trying to text Reiner, but I don't know what to say. I don't even know if he's mad at me or not." 

She sighs and turns to stare out the window. The street lamps of the parking lot glint off the glass, painting bright circles across her vision. 

"I thought college was supposed to be fun," Ymir says. "But everything is just so fucked. There's the awful shit with Historia, and then there's this, which is ruining my life, and then there's music, which is fucked because everything else is fucked. It's like I have nothing solid to stand on, and I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do about it."

Shit, she's getting too real. She didn't even smoke that much. 

Annie blows out a puff. "You have Beta." 

Ymir turns away from the window and glances at her. "What?" 

"You have Beta to stand on," Annie says. "Or to stand with, or whatever. We're here."

She was going to mention Beta. Well, she wasn't really going to mention it, because all she has to say about Beta right now is how she's also unsure about that, and she's not sure that's the greatest thing to admit to a Beta sister. 

"Look," Annie says, lighting the pipe. "I know Sasha already talked to you about this heartfelt crap, because you failed your initiation test-"

"So glad that everyone knows about all of my failures."

"- but that's what's good about having a sisterhood," she continues. "You have people to help you fix shit when you fuck up, or at least to put you back on the right path. God knows I'm a piece of shit, but the Betas hold me to my crap. They don't let me make the same mistakes again."

She glances at Ymir. "So you have Beta to rely on, at least from our end. That's one thing going for you."

Ymir lets that sink in for a moment. "Wow, Annie, that was really-"

"Fix this shit with Reiner and Bertholdt," Annie says, cutting her off. "Or I'm going to kill one of them."

"One of them?" Ymir repeats as Annie inhales. "Why not both?"

She blows out a ring of smoke. "To teach the other a lesson." 

"Jesus," Ymir hisses. "Remind me to never get on your bad side." 

She's not exactly sure what Annie wants her to do, but regardless, something within Ymir knows that she's right. It's been over a week, and they haven't gotten anywhere on their own. As much as Ymir doesn't want to face the consequences of her choices, she knows that she's put it off long enough. She started this; there may be something going on underneath, but it all begin with her, and it's up to her to finish it. Or at least to put it on the right path. 

Still, she doesn't know what to do. She doesn't even know where to start.

She sleeps on it. 

The morning does not bring fresh realizations. Ymir wakes on Tuesday, groggy, coming down from a dull high, and trudges across campus for coffee while she makes her decision. She's shuffling through the doorway, pushing past a gaggle of freshmen who still insist on walking everywhere in huge groups, when she glances up and sees familiar blonde hair. 

For a brief moment, Ymir forgets that Historia probably hates her. It lasts only a second, but it takes her breath away; she stops in the doorway and stands there, her gaze captured. She watches Historia sit at a table with her friends, their warm drinks clutched in their hands, and she thinks how easy it would be to walk over and join them. 

Then Historia laughs, a bright, sparkling sound, and Ymir remembers where they stand. 

She is so far away, suddenly, miles across the room; and even though she sits with a circle of sorority girls, some whom Ymir recognizes as not Zetas, she is still so far out of reach. 

Ymir sucks in a breath, then turns and leaves. She has to make things right. She doesn't know what to do, but she knows that she can't start here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 420 blaze it


	11. sick of the party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously on soul sisters: ymir got blazed with annie. this week: ymir checks in on a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning! this chapter contains discussion/depiction of an unspecified mental illness. specific details are in the end notes.

The front door is unlocked when Ymir shows up at Reiner and Bertholdt’s apartment. That’s not completely alarming; she can’t keep track of how many times one or both of them have lost various keys over the years, and it’s not like any of them own anything particularly valuable anyways (“My shot glass collection,” Reiner had protested when Ymir had said that). She lets herself in, a plastic shopping bag swinging against her leg, and stumbles into the living room, glancing around.

“It’s me,” Ymir says. She stops, her brow furrowed. “What the hell are you doing?”

The apartment isn’t quite as disastrous as she thought it would be (which isn’t saying much, given how messy it usually is), but that’s a good sign. Some things are still happening, although clearly other things have fallen off the radar; there are still boxes, for example, from when they moved in two months ago. But the curtains are drawn, the kitchen is clean. The morning sunlight is streaming in.

The light plays through the strings of Reiner’s cello, which is propped up between his knees as he sits on the couch, staring blearily at Ymir. He rests his chin on the shoulder of his cello, and it’s clear, just from looking at him, that he hasn’t been sleeping much.

“Everything sucks,” he mutters, leaning his head against the neck of his cello, “and I want to die.”

Ymir glances around. “Cool. Where’s Bertholdt?”

She knows where Bertholdt is- or, at least that he’s gone. She sat on a bench in the parking lot and waited for his car to leave, then promptly ignored the confused texts from him asking why she’d been loitering around his apartment building. (Here's a better question, Hoover: why are you texting and driving?)

“He just left,” Reiner sighs. “He’s probably fucking the cute flutist from chamber.”

Ymir drops her coat on the floor. “What?”

Reiner glances up again. “He went out to get coffee.”

“You look like you need it,” Ymir says, although she only catches a glimpse of his depression stubble before he sinks back into the couch and buries himself underneath a blanket, his cello still sitting awkwardly between his legs. She crosses the small living room (like, literally, it’s a shoebox, how did they ever hold a party in here?) and collapses on the unoccupied end of the couch, shoving Reiner’s sheet music out of the way to make room for herself.

She holds out the plastic bag in her hand. “I brought you some food.”

“Thanks,” Reiner mumbles from under the blanket. “I don’t want it.”

“It’s mac and cheese, dude. I got the good shit from the deli.”

There’s a pause before he mutters again that he doesn’t want it.

Ymir drops the bag onto the coffee table and leans back into the couch, kicking off her shoes. Reiner seems a little more lucid than she thought he’d be, but really, she had no idea what to expect. He’s only gone off like this a few times before, and each time, the episode was short-lived, a day or two of lingering depression before he figured his shit out again. But it’s been a week since Halloween, a week since whatever the hell happened between him and Bertholdt, a week of reconciliation and making up that clearly hasn’t worked yet. There’s no manual for this, (How to Apologize to Your Friend for Being a Piece of Shit and Also Bring Him Back from the Brink of a Depressive Episode), so Ymir is just praying for the best. 

“You haven’t taken your meds today,” she says.

“Yes, I have.”

“No, you haven’t,” she says. “Your pill container has a font big enough to read from space, and I can see that it's still full for today." 

The pill container is, indeed, sitting right in front of her on the coffee table. She’s glad to see that it’s been emptied everyday since Halloween (no doubt Bertholdt’s influence) but it’s still full for today and the last thing anyone needs is Reiner taking a joy ride from his medications. Ymir is not going to be the one to call Karina if that happens.

“You need to take this shit,” Ymir says, reaching for the pill capsule.

She tugs on the blanket to reveal Reiner’s face. He curls up against his pillow, glaring at her, but he doesn’t move to put the blanket back.

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I can, actually,” Ymir says. “Because I can say whatever the fuck I want. Here’s something else: you and Bertholdt have to resolve whatever this is. I’m sure he’s been trying to talk to you.”

Reiner sighs, and finally, he looks like himself again, as he tosses the blanket aside and pulls himself up to lean over his cello. “I know,” he says miserably, rubbing his eyes. “I just- I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I know,” Ymir says. She drops the pill container onto the couch between them and reaches for the plastic bag, pulling out a bag of chips. “But you guys are driving me insane, so you need to just talk it out.”

“I’m not really mad at him,” Reiner says with a sigh. “I don’t even know what I would be mad at him for.”

Ymir raises an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”

He glances at her. “…what?”

“Are we remembering that night differently?” she says. She tears open the bag of chips. “I mean, I know I was, like, fucked up and everything, but you guys- fought. That’s the first time I’ve ever seen you guys fight like that.”

“It was Halloween,” Reiner says glumly.

“…so?”

“So, I don’t know if it meant anything,” he exclaims. “There was a lot happening that night and we were all drunk and- oh God, Ymir, what happened with Historia?”

“Nothing else has happened,” Ymir mutters, “if that’s what you mean.”

“But that was real?”

“Yes, I yelled at her in front of everyone, thanks for reminding me.”

Reiner sighs and reaches down to unscrew the end pin of his cello. “Sorry, I just hadn’t thought about it that much. Have you talked to her at all?”

“No,” Ymir exclaims, shoving a chip into her mouth. “And don’t go trying to tell me that I need to talk to her, because I’ve already gotten that speech and frankly, that’s not why I’m here.”

Reiner stands to tuck his cello back into case, the locks snapping tightly beneath his fingers. “I know that I’m not really in a position to tell anyone how to do anything. I mean- I haven’t gone outside in two days.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Ymir says. “Dude- Reiner, I know we kind of fought too, and I know, I mean, I should have reached out sooner, because I knew that you were probably having a hard time. But you just disappeared, man.”

“I did go to class this week, mostly,” Reiner says, slumping back into the couch. He reaches for the blanket and tugs it around his shoulders. “It’s just- I don’t know. It’s Bert. We’re not  _not_  talking, but we’re not really talking either. It makes it hard to be around him." 

He glances up at her as she crunches on another chip. “Aren’t you mad at him? He wanted to leave you at the party.”

“I was being a serious pain in the ass.”

“Yeah, but you’re our friend. We couldn’t just leave you there.”

“Fine, so he had a dick moment,” Ymir says, munching. “But I can see where he’s coming from.”

“What?”

“I’ve been pretty obnoxious lately,” Ymir says. “I mean, this whole semester, with all this sorority stuff and everything about Historia. I definitely dragged you into my bullshit.”

“Don’t be so humble, Ymir.”

“I’m not saying it’s all about me,” she exclaims. “I mean- not to pry or whatever, but you guys obviously have some other shit going on. I’m just saying, you know, how were you guys this summer while you were on tour?”

Reiner stares at her. “…fine. We were fine.”

“Yeah,” Ymir says, digging her hand into the chip bag. “And then all my weird shit fucked you up again.”

“That’s not true,” Reiner starts to say, but she’s already shaking her head.

“It’s not  _not_  true, Reiner,” Ymir says. “I mean, you’ve been driving yourself crazy this semester with the recital and being first chair and everything, and then there’s all of my sorority shit on top of that. And it’s just always something, isn’t it? Bert’s probably just tired of it.”

Reiner blinks. “Shit.”

Ymir pops another chip into her mouth. “I know, right? I’ve been thinking about this non-stop for the last two days, so I’m basically a psychologist now. We should probably stop drinking so much too, or at least blacking out, but that’s a conversation for another day, I guess.”

She glances at Reiner’s pill container, then back up at him. “Wait, are you even allowed to drink?"

“I just feel like we’ve been distant,” Reiner says, staring past her. “You know?”

Ymir furrows her brow. “No. I know I just had a really smart moment right there, but I actually don’t know anything.”

“It’s just different now,” Reiner says. He leans back against the arm of the couch, his legs splaying off the side. “I think a lot of things have been different this year, and it’s just built up between us. We’re living together, we’re sharing a stand again- we haven’t done that since high school- and it just feels like, after this summer…”

He trails off. “I don’t know.”

Ymir glances at him. “You said you guys were fine this summer.”

“We were,” Reiner insists. “It’s just- some things happened on the tour.”

“What?” Ymir exclaims. “Did I miss out on some good tea? Why doesn’t anybody ever tell me anything?”

“It was nothing,” Reiner says quickly. “Just- it was my first time playing as first chair, you know, and we were traveling constantly, just moving around from city to city and never really getting time to ourselves. It was just- more stressful than I thought it’d be.”

“And, so what?” Ymir asks. “Did you guys fight then?”

“No,” Reiner says with a sigh. “But- I guess we weren’t talking much then either. It’s been harder than I thought, all this proximity: I mean, sharing an apartment, sharing a stand, having all the same classes. It’s like there’s no space for just us anymore.” 

“Hm,” Ymir says, picking out another chip. “Have you tried telling Bertholdt that?”

Reiner looks at her. “Ymir, when did you get so smart?” 

“I hotboxed a car with Annie,” she says. She picks up the pill container and shakes it at him. “Also, you should know that you’re a pretty hard person to read accurately, especially when you’re not taking these. Bertholdt’s probably sick of having to break down all your walls.”

She shakes the container for another few seconds, waiting for him to take it, before she finally just throws it at him. Reiner catches it, his hands snaking out from under the blanket, and holds onto it while he stares at her, eyes wide.

“You hotboxed a car with Annie?” he repeats.

Ymir munches on a chip. “Yeah, dude. She’s, like, the weirdest person I’ve ever met.”

“Just any old car?”

“It was her car, you fuckhead. But, like, have you ever talked to her? She knows some shit.”

“Yeah,” Reiner says, glancing down at the pill container. “Bert’s in love with her.”

“No, he’s fucking not.”

“He thinks she’s a good bassist.”

“She is a good bassist, you muppet. That doesn’t mean he wants to screw her.”

“You don’t know that. I bet that’s where he is right now.”

“I thought you said he was fucking the flutist.”

“Maybe he’s doing both.”

“Take your fucking pills before I shove them down your throat.”

Reiner reluctantly takes the water bottle that she shoves into his hands. “Please never become a therapist,” he says, popping open the pill container.

“I’d be a great therapist,” she exclaims. “Look, I just got you to take your meds.”

Reiner swallows. “You threatened to shove them down my throat.”

"It worked, didn't it?" 

She digs into the plastic bag and pulls out a take-out cup stuffed with creamy mac and cheese, the good stuff from the deli, as promised. Then she shoves it at him with a plastic fork. "Now you have to eat."

"You tricked me," Reiner mutters, but he breaks into the cup regardless.

"I brought you food, you elf. That's called a gift."

"This gift is cold." 

"I'm not a fucking delivery service."

"Where are these new insulting nicknames coming from?" Reiner asks, digging his fork into the mac and cheese. "I don't look anything like an elf."

"It just sounds good. You can have that one for free."

"Thanks, I'll use it on Bert when he comes back. You should see what he's wearing today."

Ymir pops another chip into her mouth. "I can't fucking wait." 

Reiner spins his fork in the noodles. "He's gonna leave me for a woman."

She snorts. "He could not get a girl if he tried."

"He totally could. Girls love him."

"Reiner, I'm trying to make you feel better."

"Especially really attractive girls. I've never seen an ugly girl hit on Bertholdt."

"No such thing," Ymir says instantly.

"Sorry, that was mean. I've never seen a less-than-attractive girl hit on Bertholdt."

"Hey, Reiner, what exactly are your standards for attractive women?"

"Does it matter?" he mutters, stabbing at the noodles. "I know I'm not good enough for him. He could be with literally anyone else, like someone who doesn’t have so many fucking problems, and for some reason, he's still with me. Oh God, Ymir, is this a pity relationship?"

Ymir swallows a chip. "He talks about your ass nonstop."

Reiner stops. "What?" 

"Yeah, every time you leave the room, he just goes on and on about how much he loves your ass. He's so gay for it."

"He's bi."

"I know, but he's, like, gay for you. Always down for a good dicking."

Reiner narrows his eyes. "Bertholdt would never say that."

There is doubt in his face. And yet, hope. 

"No," Ymir says, returning to her chip bag, "and he never did. But he loves you, Reiner, and you know that. He's not going to leave you." 

There's a long silence as Reiner stares at her, pensive; then he sighs, rubbing his forehead. "I know I'm just being paranoid."

"Yeah, you are."

"I can't help it sometimes," Reiner says, slinking back into the sofa. “I know I’m a lot to handle. God, I need a therapist.”

“The school has free counseling, dude.”

“They’re not allowed to make diagnoses,” he exclaims. “And even when all that’s going fine, I’m still a mess. I mean, I’m not even really-…”

Ymir narrows her eyes. "Don't finish that sentence." 

"You know I don't usually think like that," Reiner says. "But dysphoria's seriously kicking my ass today."

"Not leaving your apartment for three days probably doesn't help," Ymir offers.

Reiner sighs. "It's because I haven't been to the gym in so long."

"Are you serious? That's your problem?"

"My endorphins are low," Reiner exclaims. "I've been trying to practice for my recital, but I changed my whole program for some reason and I'm really behind now, so that's not helping either..."

"Oh," Ymir says, lowering her chip bag. "This is a terrible time to remind you, but remember when you agreed to accompany me for my recital?"

Reiner raises an eyebrow. "No?"

"Okay, well, I totally remember asking you," Ymir says. "And you definitely said yes."

He scoops up a spoonful of mac and cheese. "Fine, send me the sheet music. Piano is one thing I can manage not to screw up."

"Thank god," Ymir exclaims. "If you said no, I'd have to ask somebody else. Like _Zeke_ , ugh."

"Zeke's really not that bad," Reiner starts to say, but Ymir cuts him off.

"He's a violinist," she yells. "You know how I feel about them." 

"You know, Pieck plays piano too," Reiner offers.

Ymir gives him a look. "I am not taking that chance."

"She's not quite as crazy as you think she is."

"I once saw her snap a drumstick in half because she said it wasn't cooperating with her."

Reiner shrugs. "She's an artist." 

There's a moment of silence as Ymir shakes her chip bag, searching for the last whole pieces; after a second, she glances up and finds Reiner watching her, his gaze curious.

"This shit's all crumbs," she exclaims. "I didn't pay a whole fucking dollar for potato dust." 

"No, it's just," Reiner says, cocking his head, "you said the L word." 

“What?” 

“Love,” he exclaims.

"You guys say it to each other all the time. It's kind of gross, actually."

"No, but you said it," Reiner says. He digs his spoon into the mac and cheese, then takes a bite. "I've never heard you actually talk about love."

"I profess everyday that I'm in love with Historia Reiss," Ymir exclaims, then pauses. "I mean, I did. I'm over that now. Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"I'm still processing," Ymir grumbles. "But I don't know what you mean, man, I talk about love all the time. I love girls. I love the way they go to the bathroom in groups-"

"But you said it, like,  _love_ ," Reiner says, emphasizing. "Those things aren't actually love. You've never talked about love, like, in a relationship."

She shoves another chip into her mouth. "That's character development, I guess." 

"So, does that mean we're going to talk about Historia?" 

"I thought we agreed that we were not going to talk about that," Ymir says. "I seriously don't need another lecture right now."

"You just broke into my house to give me a lecture."

"I didn't disappear from the world for a week."

"Well, I didn't have a breakdown and yell at Historia in front of the entire school," Reiner says. He winces. "Sorry, that was mean."

"It was, thanks."

"But really," he asks, setting his half-empty cup aside, "are you okay after that?" 

"I'm great," Ymir says sullenly. "Having the time of my life."

"I mean, Bert said you looked like you were having a panic attack. And he lives with me, so he would know."

"I'm fine," Ymir says. She slouches lower against the couch. "I mean, I'll be fine. I'm making my amends, and then I've just gotta get through the rest of this god damn semester. Man, I thought junior year was supposed to be the best year."

"I have never heard anyone say that." 

"Can't wait to graduate," Ymir mutters. "Really looking forward to donning that Starbucks apron." 

"It's just what you make of it, I think," Reiner says. "We're miserable right now because we've been idiots and let ourselves be miserable. But I think there's still time to turn this year around."

"I hope so," Ymir says, crumpling up her empty chip bag. "Then maybe I won't have to work at Starbucks for the rest of my life."

"They've got pretty good benefits," Reiner says, shrugging. "I think you'd be lucky to end up there."

"Unbelievable," Ymir mutters. "Hundreds of thousands of dollars to master the bassoon, and I'm lucky to end up as a barista." 

She pauses, then glances up at Reiner. "Okay, I’m actually going to apologize, now that we’ve gotten all the feelings bullshit out of the way.”

Reiner looks at her. "Apologize for what?"

"I've been a pretty shitty friend, I guess," Ymir says. "I mean- I should have texted you or something. I could tell that you were going to spiral after that shitty Halloween party, and I didn't do anything about it."

"Ymir," Reiner says, folding up the blanket in his lap. "It's not your job to monitor me. I should be able to get on by myself."

"Yeah, but it's not a bad thing if you can't," Ymir exclaims. "Life sucks, and as your friend, I know that it sucks more for you sometimes. I should reach out to you if I feel like you're having a hard time."

Reiner is quiet for a moment, watching her. 

"You shouldn't feel like you're responsible for me," he says, then continues before she can cut him off. "But- thank you, I guess. It is nice to know that I'm not alone." 

He glances around the apartment. "Because otherwise I sit inside all day and convince myself that everyone hates me."

"Yeah, okay, that's what I mean," Ymir says. "I'm not gonna let you do shit like this anymore." 

“Please force me go to rehearsal," Reiner says. "Dr. Mikkelsen is so mad at me for missing a lesson." 

"I thought you guys were cool.”

“We were, but now I think he hates me even more than he hates you.” 

"Wow," Ymir says. "Well, at least I'm moving up in the world." 

She stretches her arms over her head, letting out a yawn as Reiner finishes the mac and cheese. She collapses back onto the couch, head flopping against the pillows, and glances sideways at him. 

“You guys are going to be okay, right?” she asks.

Reiner just looks at her.

“Like, I want you to live in your truth or whatever,” Ymir says. “But I cannot imagine a world where you guys are not together, so please tell me you’re going to work through whatever this is.”

“Me neither,” Reiner admits, setting the cup down. “I just think- yeah, we’ll be okay.”

“What was that? You hesitated.”

“We’re going to talk,” Reiner insists. “I’m feeling better, and- I don’t know what’ll happen, really, because something will have to change. But I don’t think you have to worry about us. We just need to get back on the same page.”

“Oh, thank god,” Ymir mutters, closing her eyes. She leans her head back against the cushion, letting her body melt into the couch. “Just so you know, Annie threatened to kill you if you guys didn’t start talking again.”

“What?” Reiner exclaims.

“I mean, not you specifically, she just said she’d kill one of you.”

“Annie doesn’t even talk to us. How does she know what’s going on?”

“Seriously?” Ymir says, opening her eyes to glare at him. “I mean, I know you’ve been in your bubble all week, but you guys have been giving off some serious dark vibes in symphony. She said it’s even worse in chamber.”

“Huh,” Reiner says, sitting back. “This week has mostly been a blur for me, but, uh, that probably explains why Dr. M is so pissed at me.” 

“Yeah, please fix your shit so he doesn’t take it out on the rest of us.” 

“We’ll work on it,” Reiner promises. 

He pauses for a moment before adding, “I’ve already decided to give up first chair next semester, so I think that’ll help.”

“What?” Ymir exclaims, sitting upright. “You worked so fucking hard to get first chair.”

“I know, but-”

“We literally barely saw you last semester, because you were working your fucking ass off.”

“I know,” Reiner stresses, “but with everything else that’s going on, I’m just not sure I’m capable anymore. And Bert’s such a natural leader. He’ll be so much better at it than me.”

“Didn’t he specifically not want to be first chair?”

“He only said that for my sake,” Reiner says. “We all know that he deserves to be first chair. It’s the best choice for the whole section.”

“God damn,” Ymir mutters, leaning forward to prop her elbows up on her knees. She rubs her eyes, sighing. “You should try being the only one in your section. It’s fucking great.”

“You complain about it all the time.”

“Well, at least I’m not having a lover’s spat with my stand partner.”

“At least I’m not perpetually single.”

Ymir glares at him. “At least I’m not in the most fucked up section in the music school. I swear to god, you guys haven’t kept a single section leader for more than a year. First Marcel, and now you. You can’t let Bertholdt have it, because then Porco will feel entitled to have a turn and you know that’ll be a god damn nightmare.” 

“Bert can handle first chair,” Reiner says. “I just- I don’t think I can.”

Ymir wrestles with that for a moment. They sound like they’re on the right track, with a little prodding from her; but this is a wrench thrown into her perfect plan (as fucking usual). Reiner’s probably making the right choice for himself. She’s just not sure how the whole “giving up first chair and making my boyfriend be section leader even though he definitely said he didn’t want to do that” is going to play out in real life. 

Well. That’s next semester, she supposes. For now, they’re making a good start. 

The apartment door opens then, and they stare expectantly as Bertholdt stumbles in from the cold, clutching a tray of coffee cups to his chest. And aw- he brought one for Ymir too, since he probably figured that she was stalking the apartment to ambush Reiner. The door slams with the wind, and he sets the coffee down on the kitchen counter before looking up.

"Oh, good, you're still here," he says when he sees Ymir. "You could have called to say you were coming over, you know."

Ymir just stares at him. Reiner's right. He looks ridiculous. He's wearing a black turtleneck that makes him look even more giraffe-shaped than he did before. God, where could he have possibly bought that? 

"See what I mean?" Reiner mutters.

"Jesus Christ," Ymir exclaims. "You look like the rejected fifth member of the Beatles."

Bertholdt blinks at her. "...what?" 

"It's like they turned you away because they didn't think turtles could play instruments."

"Funny," Bertholdt sneers, dumping his keys on the counter.

"I'm not kidding. Somebody call Tan France."

"He's hiding his hickeys from the cute flutist in chamber," Reiner mutters. 

"I'm not sleeping with Jean," Bertholdt exclaims.

"Prove it, you elf!"

"I- what?"

"Oh, Christ," Ymir exclaims. "You guys are into Jean too? What's the deal with him all of a sudden?"

"He's kind of fuckable, if you hate yourself," Reiner says, shrugging.

"Alright," Ymir sighs. She leaps to her feet, crumpled chip bag in hand. "I'm leaving so you guys can work through Reiner's paranoid thoughts together. Good luck."

She hands the crumpled chip bag to Bertholdt on her way out the door. "Throw this away for me."

"The trash can is literally right there." 

"Bye," Ymir calls. "This was painful, but productive. Please talk to each other. I’ll see you guys at brunch." 

**Text from Ymir  
** i did a good thing

**Text from Sasha**  
proud of u  
what was it though, because i feel like i should get to be the judge of whether or not it was actually good

 **Text from Ymir**  
trust me, u will actually be proud of me  
i sucked it up and talked to reiner and bertholdt  
and by talked i mean i apologized for being a garbage friend  
so i guess we’re all talking again 

**Text from Sasha**  
great job!!  
although i hope you know that you’re not actually a garbage friend

**Text from Ymir**  
really feels like that though, doesn’t it 

**Text from Sasha**  
i mean  
does it?  
because it doesn’t feel like that to me

 **Text from Ymir**  
i know that not everything is my fault  
i’m not that self centered 

**Text from Sasha**  
that actually sounds like it would be more self deprecating but okay 

**Text from Ymir**  
but i just keep ruining things for other people huh  
first it was historia, and then it was them  
like can i just mind my own business for once? 

**Text from Sasha**  
well it sounds like you’re trying  
also not to not mind my own business-  
but it looks to me like all of these times you think you’ve messed up (or when you really have messed up) you’ve just taken things like a step too far. like your intentions were good? but you let the situation get away from you.  
ya feel? 

**Text from Ymir**  
ok i know what u mean but i do not feel  
i’ve been dealt a lot of truth bombs lately sasha and i do not appreciate another one taking a dump on me like this

**Text from Sasha**  
well is it a truth bomb or a truth shit, because those are two different metaphors

**Text from Ymir**  
truth shit is probably more accurate for my life 

**Text from Sasha**  
okay, sorry for truth shitting on you. i will mind my own business, unless of course you want to talk about your feelings because that is always on the table

**Text from Ymir**  
i can’t tell if ur actually invested in helping me fix my life or if u just really like drama

**Text from Sasha**  
i would be lying if i said it was not a little bit of both

**Text from Ymir**  
that’s fair  
i have to go practice now, because balance and whatever

**Text from Sasha**  
???? 

**Text from Ymir**  
just some shit from my recital advisor  
i hate him but damn if he can’t fucking read me

**Text from Sasha**  
ok well if you want to get together and work on that anthro paper, let me know. i’m really trying to finish it before thanksgiving break but i will never do that unless i am coerced by partnership so say the word and i will book us a study room all night long

**Text from Ymir**  
what fucking anthro paper?? 

**Text from Sasha**  
ymir  
i really thought i was the least organized person here  
then you came into my life

**Text from Ymir**  
please, i said no more truth shits

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reiner and ymir talk about his mental illness, which remains undiagnosed but has symptoms resembling those of chronic depression and/or bipolar disorder.


	12. like a goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously on soul sisters: ymir and reiner had the long, heartfelt conversation they'd been missing. this week: things are getting better.

Things could be worse. 

There are three days left before Ymir leaves for Thanksgiving break, and when she returns, recital season will be in full swing. It'll be hell: practice, practice, dress rehearsal, and then the final performance that determines her status in the music school. She knows there won't be time to deal with anything else once December hits; it's the same every year, no matter what the situation is. Whether it's juries or recitals or final exams, the last two weeks of the semester are non-stop insanity. She won't be able to handle anything else. 

Upon realizing this, Ymir accepts the fact that, well, while things could definitely be better, things could definitely be worse.

At least Dr. Mikkelsen thinks she'll pass her recital. At least Reiner and Bertholdt are talking again. At least she and Sasha can fail their anthropology final together. At least Historia hasn't taken a hit out on her. 

Fuck, she's barely hitting the minimum on all of those counts. 

Things suck.

But they could be worse, she has to remind herself with a deeply inhaled breath on Thursday morning when the clarinetist in her wind quartet has the audacity to suggest an extra rehearsal before their final concert. She's not even the most mad about that; the flutist nearly blows her lid. Who suggests an extra rehearsal for a stupid ensemble class when there are recitals to think about? 

Things could be worse for her right now. Things have been worse this semester, and things have been getting better. She's been trying to fix herself and all the messes she's caused. She's focusing on the bassoon, staying in on the weekends. She made amends with Reiner and Bertholdt, hopefully put them back on the right path. She's thought about Sasha's words a lot, in the daydreams between practice sessions, and she's decided what she's going to say when she apologizes to Historia. 

She has to apologize, of course. She's not a monster.

Just- not yet. 

The right time, the right place- these are all things that still elude her, and she thinks, quietly, that there probably is no right time, no right place. There aren't even right words, despite the fumbling apology that Ymir has managed to come up with. What, exactly, does Historia want to hear from her? Probably nothing. But she's had a knot in her stomach since Halloween, and she has to say something, even if it makes her sound like the bumbling idiot that she is. She just has to be honest. 

**Text from Sasha**  
yasss girl, live in your truth

**Text from Ymir**  
please don't ever do that again

**Text from Sasha**  
i'm just a proud big 

**Text from Ymir**  
please stop

**Text from Sasha**  
you're doing the right thing

**Text from Ymir**  
well i haven't done it yet  
so don't have too much faith in me 

Things could be worse. But things are going to be better. 

She'll find a way to talk to Historia before Thanksgiving break, so they can leave it all behind and move on with their lives. She'll finish the draft of this stupid anthropology paper (with Sasha's help, thank god), she'll nail down all the pieces for the last few concerts of the semester, and then she'll lock herself in a practice room, ignore everything, and play through her recital program until she's blue in the face. 

How's that for balance, Dr. M?!

"I can't believe how far I've fallen," Reiner exclaims on Friday morning. Music history has been cancelled because their professor is leaving early for a Thanksgiving booze cruise, but they've elected to spend their free hour in the closest off-campus coffee shop-

("I'm serious," Reiner had said. "I'm not going there again."

"You're not even allergic to soy milk," Ymir had said. "Like, you wouldn't have died just because they got your order wrong."

"No, but what if I was? Ymir, wake up. That coffee shop is operated by the crones of dining operations, who are just wheels in the machine of the corporate catering industry-"

"Oh my god, fine, I will walk downtown with you.")

-under the pretense of studying for the final exam, which includes an essay for some reason?? Like, they're music students. And they're expected to _write??_ Ymir doesn't think so. But this class is required for her major so she supposes that she can think so for the next few weeks, at least until she fucking passes. Please, god, just let her pass. 

Ymir takes in the deep aroma of her espresso, then glances up. "What?" 

"Remember when you didn't like coffee?" Reiner asks, staring at her across the table.

He's strewn his notes across the table to pretend he's studying. Ymir has not even gotten that far; her backpack remains unopened on the floor, her bassoon case tucked safely under her chair. 

"No," she says, setting down her tiny espresso cup. Small, but strong. "What were you saying?"

"I had one bad week and I lost all my favor with Dr. Mikkelsen," Reiner says, combing through his notebook. "I used to hang out in his office and listen to him gossip about all the other professors. Now, he won't even respond to my emails."

"To be fair," Ymir says as she leans back in her chair, "you only had favor with him for, like, a month. He's never really liked you before this year."

"Oh God," Reiner mutters, dropping his pen onto the table. "He only liked me because I was a try-hard first chair. And now that I'm moving back down to second-"

"I still think that's a bad idea, just FYI," Ymir interrupts. 

"I'm not worthy of being in his inner circle anymore," Reiner sighs. 

"Is that really a place you want to be though?"

"Yes," Reiner exclaims. He takes a sip of his coffee. "I got so much good tea from him. Did you know that Dr. P used to be a circus performer?" 

Ymir stares at him. "Mikkelsen was lying to you."

Reiner swallows another mouthful of his coffee, then glances across at her. "Do you really think it's a bad idea?"

"Do I think it's a bad idea to give up first chair in the middle of your first major fight with your boyfriend who will end up inheriting said first chair?" Ymir exclaims. 

"Well, when you put it like that..."

"I find it hard to believe Bertholdt's okay with that," she says. 

"He's definitely not," Reiner exclaims. 

"See?!"

"But he will be," Reiner insists. "It'll be weird at first, but I think it'll be good for all of us in the end. He's a good leader- he'll be much better at it than I ever was."

"Jesus, Reiner." 

"What? He's always been a better cellist, and we all know it." 

She rolls her eyes. "Never fuck your stand partner." 

Reiner stares at her for a moment. Then-

"Oh God," he exclaims. "What have I done?" 

"I mean, thank god I'm not mediating a fight between you and Fuckface Galliard," Ymir says, reaching for her espresso. She swallows it in one mouthful and- ugh, god, as much as she loves the kick, she could do without the actual taste. She'll order some hot chocolate or shit like that. 

"For the record," Reiner says, lowering his voice, "I would never have dated Porco."

Ymir shrugs. "I'm just saying," she offers, "you guys are supposed to be resolving your problems, not creating more of them. It doesn't seem like this is going to help."

"It's a long-term solution," Reiner says, closing his notebook. He holds his coffee close (for once, just a normal coffee, nothing fancy or sugary, and that's how she knows he does eventually intend to study for this exam). "It will help, trust me." 

"Fine," she huffs. "Is Mikkelsen okay with it?"

"How do you think I got booted from the inner circle?"

"I thought it was because you missed a lesson last week and have been totally spaced out every time you sit next to Bertholdt in rehearsal. So, like, in every rehearsal."

"Well, that hasn't helped," he says. He crosses his hands across the table and stares expectantly at her. "So, how are you?" 

Ymir sits back in her chair and furrows her brow. "What? I'm fine."

"Really?"

"Yes- why are you cross examining me?"

"I'm checking in on you," Reiner says. "Because you're such a good friend-"

"Ugh."

"-and I should do the same for you," he says. "So, how are you?" 

"I'm fine," Ymir exclaims. "I mean, fine for this point in the semester."

"Is there anything you want to talk about?" 

"You mean Historia?" Ymir says. She glares at him. "No."

"Well, we haven't talked about it, really-"

"I've talked about it," Ymir exclaims. "I've been forced to talk about it, and I'm, like, getting over it finally, so I'm actually pretty tired of talking about it."

She glances down at her phone. "By the way, I told Sasha she could come study with us, but that was ten minutes ago, so I'm pretty sure she's lost." 

"Oh, good," Reiner says, shoving his notes in an unorganized pile. "I was actually going to study for this test, but if Sasha's coming, then I want to hear all the sorority tea-"

"There's no tea!" 

"You guys," Sasha exclaims when she bounds into the coffee shop, her scarf flying wildly over her shoulders. "You won't believe what just happened at the first slate meeting!" 

She stops just before their table, breathing heavily- did she run here? being ten minutes late is not that deep, fam- and drops her bags- of which there are many, some carrying Beta papers, some full of painting supplies, and one inexplicably overflowing with tea bags- onto the ground. 

"I told you," Reiner mouths at Ymir. 

"Hi, Reiner," Sasha exclaims, reaching out a hand. "Nice to meet you in the daylight!"

"Oh, yeah!" he says as he shakes her hand vigorously. "So, you survived Halloween unscathed?" 

"More or less," she says, dropping into the seat next to Ymir. "So, you guys, listen- the slate meeting was wild!"

"What the hell is a slate meeting?" Ymir asks, knowing full well that she's about to get an eye roll, because, hello, she's talking to Mr. and Mrs. Greek Life here.

"Hedy definitely talked about this in chapter last week," Sasha says, turning to face her. "The slate is the new board of officers for the upcoming year-"

"Right," Ymir says, "which for some reason runs from January to December, instead of following the normal school year, like everything else."

"That's just the way it is. Anyways, you apply to be an officer, then the committee meets and chooses the slate, and soon the chapter will vote to approve the slate, blah, blah, blah, whatever," she continues, leaning in across the table. "I'm on the committee this year because I'm not running for another position, and we were just meeting for the first time to go through all of the applications and pick the actual eligible candidates- you would not believe how many girls apply to be officers when their GPA barely makes the standard chapter minimum- and you will not believe who is running for president."

"Ymir," Reiner says immediately.

"What?" Ymir exclaims.

Sasha holds out a finger. "That would truly be shocking."

"Who the hell would want to be president?" Ymir asks, glancing to Sasha. "I mean, Hedy's, like, made for that job, but she's graduating, so..."

"Right," Sasha exclaims. "We all thought Signe would step up, but she's applying for panhellenic council instead."

She pauses, glancing sideways at Ymir. "I shouldn't really be telling you this. It's supposed to be, like, top secret information."

She slides her gaze to Reiner. "And you. You keep your mouth shut." 

"It's not that deep," Ymir says instantly.

"Ymir," Reiner hisses, "this is top secret."

"The slate will go out on Sunday anyways," Sasha says, "so just, like, shut up until then. But get this: Annie and Mikasa are running against each other."

Reiner sputters. "Annie Leonhardt?! For president? Good luck, guys, it was nice knowing you."

Ymir stares at him. "You are so scared of her." 

"Well, it could be end up being Mikasa," Sasha says, shrugging. "The committee's pretty split on that vote as it stands now."

"Mikasa will win," Ymir says, toying with her empty espresso cup. "She's already on the executive board, she's got the edge." 

"I don't know if that's much better," Reiner says. "I'm equally terrified of her." 

"I can see it going either way," Sasha says as she leans back in her chair, reaching up to redo her ponytail. "Mikasa may have experience as a Beta officer, but Annie's application was pretty good. Did you guys know she's been running that music tutoring program for two years? It's pretty impressive."

Ymir looks at her. "We have a music tutoring program?" 

"Huh," Reiner says, brow furrowed. "I guess that explains why I was never accepted as a tutor."

Ymir glances across the table at him. "God, you two really have it out for each other." 

"Yeah, she punched me in the face once."

"What?" Ymir exclaims. "Reiner, what the hell?"

He shrugs. "I was a freshman. I deserved it." 

"Anyways, that's all the hot goss I have," Sasha says, tying off her ponytail into a loose bun. "There are the stirrings of drama about elections for the panhellenic board, but- well, that can wait." 

She gets up to order a coffee (Reiner reluctantly returns to his notes, now that the tea spilling session is over), and when she comes back, she turns to face Ymir.

"Speaking of panhellenic," Sasha starts.

Ymir has to contain a growl. "No."

"You don't even know what I'm going to say!"

"I know that it has to do with panhellenic, and given my current status with certain panhellenic members, I would rather not get involved with anything else." 

"It's just an event," Sasha says. "Tomorrow, there's the panhellenic tea party-"

Ymir knows very well that the tea party is tomorrow. She's had it circled in her calendar for over a month in hot pink marker. It's the relic of a bygone era now, of a time when she was stupid and hopeful and longed for the chance to express her love at panhellenic get-togethers. Now, she regrets using marker instead of pencil. 

"You're not even going to see anyone," Sasha says, emphasis on the anyone like they don't all know what that means. "We're just going to go and drink some tea and eat some cake and bond with our panhellenic community before finals season completely destroys our souls."

"I wish the fraternities had tea parties," Reiner grumbles.

"Aw," Sasha says, her bun bobbing as she cocks her head at Reiner. "You can just drop out of Gamma and join a sorority!"

He sips on his coffee. "You have no idea how little I want to do that." 

"Please ignore him," Ymir says, turning back to Sasha. "And please, I don't want to bond with anyone. I could have tea and cake at home." 

She wouldn't; but that's not the point. She could. 

"You can't live under a rock forever," Sasha insists. "Come on, it's been weeks since Halloween. No one cares about what happened anymore. I bet nobody even remembers."  


"Historia remembers," Ymir mutters.

"Speaking of which-"

"No, I haven't talked to her yet," Ymir exclaims. "I'm- working on it."

"C'mon, Annie and Mikasa will be there," Sasha says. "I bet they'll be at each other's throats." 

Ymir wrestles with that. She's pretty sure either of them would be a fine president, but she is looking forward to playing them against each other until they throw fists. 

"It's free food," Sasha says as one last offer.

"Okay, fine," Ymir says with a sigh. "I'll go to the damn tea party."

"Bring me some cake," Reiner says. 

Ymir glances across the table at him. "You could probably just show up, Reiner. You know fucking everyone on this campus, it's not like they'd kick you out." 

"As encouraging as that is," Reiner says, setting his coffee cup aside to peruse through his notes, "I don't know if I want to be in Annie and Mikasa's war zone." 

That's a little dramatic, Ymir thinks as she rolls her eyes, then promptly forgets as their study session actually begins for real. She's never been good at taking tests, or writing essays, or reading, or sitting still, or paying attention in class- so the studying is slow going. Sasha hangs around as moral encouragement, which mostly means that she sits back and scrolls through her phone, interrupting every now and then when she recognizes the name of a composer they mention. 

Mostly, their studying gets them nowhere. Ymir leaves the coffee shop that afternoon with her textbook earmarked and stuffed with post-it notes, the important things that she needs to study. The notes fill most of the book since she's studied absolutely nothing before now. But luckily, the final exam for music history comes after the junior recitals- so hopefully, she'll have time to study then. 

Saturday afternoon brings the panhellenic tea party, as promised, held in the old chapel on the south end of campus. The sororities really go out of their way to make the place look nice. Round tables fill the main room, covered with delicately patterned tablecloths in pastel colors and topped with silver cake tower centerpieces. When Ymir arrives (late, as usual), the room is already buzzing with conversation. Trays of steaming teapots are bustled from table to table by the panhellenic officers, who also act as hosts, greeting guests at the door and inviting them inside. 

"Okay," Ymir admits when she finds Sasha amid the crowded room. She unwraps her scarf and hangs her jacket on the back of the chair that was being saved for her. "This is pretty damn cute."

"This is one of my favorite things all year," Sasha says. She reaches for the teapot at the center of their table and holds it up, offering. "This is lilac jasmine tea. Want some?"

Ymir, who knows nothing about tea, says, "Sure." 

"We don't get a lot of time to hang out with the other sororities," Sasha says as she pours Ymir a cup of tea. "But this is always really nice, and it's right at the end of the semester, so everyone really needs some relaxation." 

Their table mates don't look so relaxed. Ymir sits opposite Annie and Mikasa, who, as Reiner predicted, are buzzing with indignation as they glare at each other. Apparently, they had neglected to discuss with each other their plans of running for president, so the weekend is now a tense competition of fury as they wait to find out who the committee slates for the position. 

Ymir takes a sip of her tea. The perfect beverage for a perfect dramatically day. 

"There's actually not that many Betas here," Sasha says, spinning the cake tower around to sample the selections. "Which is good, I guess, because we're supposed to be, like, bonding with other sororities."

"Right," Ymir says. "Historically, that has not worked well for me." 

"Well, here's something that might interest you," Sasha starts. "See that table of Iota Xi girls over there? The redhead is in my painting class. And- get this- she's gay."

Ymir rolls her eyes. "No offense, Sasha, but I don't go around setting you up with all the deaf guys I know."

"You would if you knew any."

...she probably has a point.

"Anyways," Sasha continues, carefully selecting a finger sandwich to put on her plate, "I haven't talked to her much, but we were both in the studio last night working on her final projects. She's redoing The Last Supper with Hayley Kiyoko as Jesus, so, like, that's something you two have in common."

"I only know who Hayley Kiyoko is because of Reiner," Ymir says.

"Fine, but I think you'd get along with her."

Ymir lets out a long huff. "No."

"What?" Sasha exclaims, her eyes wide. "Come on, you don't even know her!"

"Know her?" Ymir snorts. "I barely know her."

Across the table, Annie and Mikasa take their eyes off each other for the first time to shoot her confused looks. 

"Okay, Ymir, you need a rebound," Sasha says, reaching for her finger sandwich. "Then maybe your comebacks will start making sense again. Not that they've ever made that much sense, but-"

"Wait, you're just, like, offering up your friend as my rebound?" 

"She's just some girl in my painting class," Sasha says, then pops the tiny sandwich into her mouth. "Not actually my friend."

Ymir takes a long slurp of tea as Sasha frowns at her. "So," she says when she puts the cup down, "you are just setting me up with some random lesbian."

Sasha pauses. "I guess."

"I knew it."

"But," she exclaims, her ponytail swinging as she lurches towards Ymir, grabbing onto her arm, "it doesn't matter! Because you need to take your mind off of certain other sorority girls!" 

"I'm working on it," Ymir hisses, jerking out of Sasha's grasp.

"You still haven't apologized to her?!"

"What am I supposed to say?" Ymir exclaims. "She's not going to want to hear it."

"We talked about this! It's up to her if she wants to actually listen or not, but you have to be the one to take the first step!"

Across the table, Mikasa hums. "She's right."

Annie tsks. "Disagree." 

"Having a dissenting opinion involves more than just disagreeing," Mikasa says, setting her teacup down. It clinks a little too hard against the saucer. "A good leader can explain her reasoning-"

Ymir turns back to Sasha. "Is there a third candidate for president?" 

Sasha sighs, leaning back in her seat. "They're not really supposed to know who else applied, but I mean, we can't help it if they talk to each other..."

She glances back to Ymir. "Anyways, if you're not going to talk to that Iota Xi girl, then will you help me find Hitch Dreyse? She has a book that I need for my anthropology paper and she said she'd be here." 

Ymir swallows a mouthful of tea. "Oh god, have you started working on that paper?" 

"Yes?" Sasha frowns. "I thought you said you'd started too."

"I mean, I wrote my name at the top of the page." 

 "Well, maybe you can find something in this book too," Sasha says as she stands, taking her teacup with her. "Dr. Stein recommended it for my topic, but it's some kind of textbook so there should be more in there..."

She trails off as she scans the room, peering over the crowd. "Do you see Hitch?"

Ymir grabs a macaron from the cake tower and follows Sasha as she meanders through the room, searching faces. "I don't know anyone named Hitch, but if I see Will Smith, I'll let you know-"

"Oh, there she is!"

Sasha leads them to a table on the other side of the room, one filled with girls that Ymir thinks she vaguely recognizes. She doesn't know why they look familiar until Sasha finds the girl named Hitch and then, oh fuck, Ymir knows her- that's the president of Zeta Chi, the one who spoke during recruitment, and oh, great! This is a whole table full of Zeta Chis. 

Dear, sweet, Sasha- why?

Hitch shoves an enormous textbook at Sasha. "Thank god," she mutters, running a hand through her hair. "I can finally get this thing out of my apartment. Tell Dr. Stein I hated her class."

"Did you write all these notes in here?" Sasha asks, flipping through the pages. 

"No, that was the fucker who had it before me. You should ask Dr. Stein if she wants the book back, actually? Because we've been inheriting it like the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants for years now, but it actually belongs to her."

Hitch glances up at Ymir, who quickly shoves the macaron into her mouth so she doesn't have to talk. 

"Have we met?" she asks, narrowing her eyes.

"Oh, this is Ymir," Sasha exclaims. "She's a new member in Beta." 

"Ymir," Hitch repeats. "Hm, that sounds really familiar..."

"Does it?" Ymir says. "I mean, it's a really common name."

"We probably met at recruitment," Hitch says, shrugging it off. "Lord knows I can't remember two hundred names. Well, cool, you guys got the book, I got some free cake, I have to go now because we're having officer elections in a bit and- I mean, you guys know how dramatic that can be. I have to fireproof the chapter room so no one can, like, set off a fucking bomb or something." 

"Sure," Sasha chirps. "Thanks for the book!" 

Ymir glares at her as they trudge back to their seats, Sasha lugging the heavy book in her arms. 

"You didn't tell me she was a Zeta," Ymir hisses.

Sasha rolls her eyes. "Ymir, she didn't even know who you were! Like I said, no one remembers what happened. You can move on."

Historia remembers, Ymir thinks; but she keeps her mouth shut.

She puts it out of her mind and focuses on drinking as much free as possible. The tea party is nice, like Sasha said, even if she is dragged around the room and introduced to all the panhellenic sisters that Sasha knows. She recognizes some of them from recruitment, people she totally ignored while she was thinking about how to get into Zeta Chi, or girls from her Rho Gamma group who are inexplicably excited to see her, even though they have not spoken since and will probably never speak again.

It's also pretty entertaining when Annie "accidentally" spills a cup of tea on Mikasa, who very nearly starts a brawl in the middle of the chapel. Hedy and Signe, Beta's current masterminds, sit in the corner and sip on their black tea as they place bets on who's going to win. Ymir doesn't ask if they're betting on the slate, or the fight. 

It's a good afternoon, if a bit oversugared, and by the time Ymir is coerced into an all-night study session at the library that evening, she's crashing. She doesn't get it. Sasha definitely ate more sweets than her, but somehow that just seems to power her. She heaves that anthropology textbook all the way to the third floor study room that she's booked for them and declares that they are not leaving the building until they each have the first ten pages of their draft finished.

"The first ten pages?!" Ymir exclaims, jerking upright in her chair. Her laptop sits unopened in front of her, because, like, she didn't think she was actually going to have to do work.

"It's a fifteen page paper," Sasha says, reaching for a whiteboard marker. 

"Oh my god," Ymir moans.

Mikasa has claimed the floor of their study room, chemistry notes spread out on the carpet around her, and she barely glances up as she mutters, "That's not even that long."

"I'm a musician," Ymir grumbles, her forehead dropped onto the desk. "I can't write."

Sasha begins scrawling something on the whiteboard. "You're putting yourself in a box. Come on, make a mind map for your topic, it'll be easier that way."

"I don't even have a topic yet!" 

"Dr. Stein literally gave us a list to choose from! Just pick one that's in the textbook and you'll be done in no time!" 

She rubs her eyes. Okay, she remembers getting that list now, since she's actually started showing up to her anthropology class (at Sasha's insistence, of course). Briefly, Ymir remembers that Marcel is also in their anthro class, and he's definitely smart, so maybe he'd be helpful to have here- oh, but then she remembers what Marcel's voice sounds like, and that's a hard pass on that.

"What are you doing?" Sasha exclaims when Ymir stands up and starts for the door.

"I'm going to get some coffee," she grumbles. "I can't do this without caffeine."

Mikasa clicks her tongue. "You just drank three pots of tea."

Ymir opens the door. "You underestimate the sheer power of my caffeine addiction." 

It's not that late, but the library has already begun emptying out. A lot of students skip the last two days of class before Thanksgiving break so they can have the full weekend off; consequently, Ymir walks quietly through a library full of tryhards and nerds, the exact people who would roll their eyes at her complaining about a fifteen page paper. Well, whatever, she's a music major for a reason. She'd like to see any of these fucks face a recital meeting with Dr. Mikkelsen. 

Ugh, she's not going to think about him right now. 

She makes her way down to the first floor and- oh great, the coffee kiosk has already closed for Thanksgiving break. Damn, the one time she actually sticks around campus and tries to be productive, everyone else gives up on her. Well, fine, she'll just drag her ass down to the basement then. She knows there's a vending machine somewhere down there that sells overpriced bottled coffee drinks, but she's never been able to find it. As long as she's procrastinating tonight, she can spare a few minutes to explore.

Ymir wanders down to the basement, descending into silence, dampness, and some seriously harsh fluorescent lighting. This place is like a dungeon: stacked with metal shelves of old and apparently useless books, since they've been sentenced to die in this moldy cellar. She walks through the stacks, glancing down the ends of each one. Nope, not there, not there either. 

She's nearly ready to give up on her search when she spies the faint glow of a vending machine from around a cinderblock corner. Aha- so that's where it's been hiding all these years, secluded away in the university's collection of government documents. She trudges towards the machine, stifling a yawn, and shells out five dollars for two tiny bottled lattes. Maybe if she chugs them, the caffeine rush will feel worth it. 

Ymir spins around, trying to remember where the stairs are, and as she's standing there, wondering, she realizes that this tiny secluded corner of the basement contains not only the coffee machine, but also a cluster of quiet study carrels, where Historia Reiss sits with her computer, her brow furrowed at the bright screen. 

Ymir's first instinct is to run.

She almost does, except the bookshelves don't leave much room for frantic, panicked sprints, so when she turns to ghost, she finds herself trapped between the shelves and the vending machine. The only way out she can see is past Historia, or back through the maze of moldy books. She's taking the maze, obviously.

Except that her shoes squeak on the linoleum, and Historia looks up. 

Okay, first of all, Ymir thinks as she stands under the fluorescent lights, frozen, she just spent thirty seconds banging on this stupid machine to get her overpriced coffee and Historia managed to not react to that all. So, how is it that the minute her stupid shoes squeak-

"Oh," Historia says softly, blinking. "Hi."

Ymir glances around for an escape route. "Uh... hi."

"Uh, what are you doing here?" Historia asks. She's hunched over in her chair, laptop couched in her lap, and her desk is splayed with notebooks and loose papers, something that looks very complicated and mathematical and much smarter than Ymir could possibly understand. 

"Just, uh, getting coffee," Ymir says, lamely holding up the two bottles. "Obviously I didn;t know you'd be down here, you know, so I just-"

"No, it's just-" Historia says, shaking her head. She rubs a hand over her eyes. "No one ever comes down here." 

"Oh," Ymir says. "Yeah, well, I was just. You know, getting coffee."

Historia blinks at her. "Mm-hmm."

Ymir clears her throat. "So, I'm gonna go now, since I have my coffee." 

"...okay."

She turns on her heel, coffee bottles gripped tightly in her hands; but the knot in her stomach is tightening, her own words echoing in her head, and she knows that if she doesn't do this now, she never will. 

"So, hey, listen," Ymir says loudly, turning back around.

Historia glances up.

"You can, like, tell me to shut the fuck up if you want," Ymir says. "But I just wanted to say something." 

Historia says nothing, just looks at her. Then she nods, and Ymir takes a breath.

"I was a huge asshole at the Halloween party," Ymir says. "And I probably have been this whole time, now that I think about it, but I was definitely, like out of line that night. And I didn't really mean anything that I said, but, uh, you know that doesn't really matter, because I said it anyways. I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry for how I acted."

She waits in silence as Historia's tired gaze washes over her, evaluating her. 

"Um," Historia says finally. She rubs her eyes again and pushes her hair out of her face. "I- uh, I mean, thanks for saying that, Ymir. I appreciate the sentiment." 

She pauses for a second, her gaze distant; then she glances back up to Ymir.

"But listen," she says. "What you said, I mean- I'm not going to pretend that it didn't hurt me. So I don't think I can forgive you right away."

"Right," Ymir says. "Of course. I mean, that's what I figured." 

Historia stares at her. "So, I don't think we should be friends."

Ymir swallows the lump in her throat. "Right."

"Not now," Historia says. "Maybe..."

She trails off, holding back a yawn, then finishes, "Just not right now." 

"Cool," Ymir exclaims. "I mean, not cool, but, like, that's fine, you know, that's your- I'm gonna go."

It's what she expected. It's what she deserves. 

Ymir retraces her footsteps back upstairs, sipping slowly at her cold coffee, and she takes a few minutes to wander around the library in silence instead of returning to the study room. That was a best case scenario, as far as she can tell; she had thought Historia might yell back at her, or cut her off, or refuse to hear her out at all. But she listened and she accepted, even if she hasn't forgiven- yet. 

It's the best Ymir could have hoped for, honestly, and she's okay with that. The knot in her stomach loosens a bit, and she's able to breathe a sigh of relief for the first time in a long time. 

Things could be worse. Things are getting better. 


	13. hands and heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously on soul sisters: ymir finally got off her ass and apologized to historia. this week: ymir is confronted with one- no, two- no, THREE problems. uh-oh.

Thanksgiving comes.

Ymir packs her bags and heads home for a few short days, desperate to get off campus, away from everything, even just for a little while. She sets up shop in the basement of her mother's house, between the rotting clapboard and the decaying cricket carcasses (privacy comes at a price) and focuses on nothing but the bassoon. She plays through her full recital program on repeat, until she can't feel her lips, until she's forced to take a short break for the holiday dinner, squeezed into a seat at the table between cousins and step-cousins, sitting back and stuffing herself with dressing as the family drama carries on around her. Dinner is finished, the cousins disappear, and she resumes her routine.

She practices the hell out of her recital pieces over those four days, and when she returns to campus the following week, worn out and breathless, she thinks she's ready.

Her recital isn't for another week. But the dress rehearsals are terrifyingly close, and it's there that she will be really judged, before God(TM) and the rest of the junior class. Dr. Mikkelsen will thrown down his evaluation there, in that silent performance hall as the rest of her classmates quiver in terror; and then, finally, she'll know her fate.

She's sure that she'll do fine. Dr. M's been more confident in her this semester than he ever has before, and he basically told her that she's going to pass her recital. It's just- she's never done anything this important before. This is the fate of her future, and even though she's been working her ass off like she never has before, she's not certain that it'll be enough to truly prove herself. 

Still, as long as she doesn't do something stupid, like pass out on stage, she'll do fine.

(Dear god, she hopes that she doesn't pass out on stage). 

She spends the holiday break at home practicing, playing, performing, thinking of nothing else, doing nothing else, and on Monday, she returns to school, finally ready. 

Thanksgiving goes. 

The first day back drags (of course it does, her first class is music history, which she wishes she had slept through instead of attending), but the atmosphere on campus is unmistakably different. There are just weeks left in the semester. There are final projects, final papers, final exams. There are senior theses to finish and grad school applications to submit. In the music school, too, the tension is heightened among the students. It's always like this, at the end of every semester, as the underclassmen scramble to prepare for their juries, but it feels even more urgent now, being on the other side of things. Ymir sees no trace of the senior music students after Thanksgiving break; they've probably all faded into the void as they juggle senior recitals, grad program auditions, and the prospect of being kicked into the real world with nothing but a music degree to keep them afloat. The juniors are understandably terrified: of their own recitals, of course, but also of the inevitable promotion to senior- and then to adult. 

Ymir keeps her calm by practicing. Balance, she remembers, is what Dr. Mikkelsen said that she lacks. She thinks she's found it at last, or at least she's on the right track. Things are resolved, for the most part, in the rest of her crazy life; nobody is fighting or completely hates her, which certainly puts her at ease. And she's feeling good about her recital. She's been striving for balance, or, as she likes to think of it, for some tiny fucking sliver of sanity in her life. She thinks she's gotten there, but just to be sure, she forces Reiner into a pre-dress-rehearsal-rehearsal. 

She plays through her full program that evening, Reiner accompanying on the piano; when they finish, Ymir collapses onto the piano bench and clutches her bassoon, staring at Reiner with a furrowed brow. 

"That was good," he exclaims before she can say anything. "Do you want to run it again? We booked the room for an hour." 

Ymir frowns. "Maybe," she says. "Are you okay?"

Reiner glances at her. "Hm?"

"You're being, like, weirdly happy," she says. 

It's not an accusation- but it's not  _not_  an accusation either. He's being oddly cheerful for someone who just spent four days trapped at home with his fucked-up family, but he doesn't seem to think there's anything strange about it. He just looks at her and smiles. 

"What?" he asks. "I'm fine." 

"I didn't say you weren't fine," Ymir says. "You just seem, like, I dunno, happy."

"I'm supposed to be happy, aren't I?"

"You're not supposed to be anything."

Ymir knows that he's been better since they finally got their heads out of their asses and talked about their feelings. But she's on edge now, ready to be suspicious of anything out of the ordinary. And this is definitely out of the ordinary. Reiner's usually quite easygoing, but not after spending Thanksgiving break being misgendered by his mother. Call her paranoid, but this is weird. 

Reiner shuffles the sheet music back to its starting position. He doesn't even need it, that fucker. How is he so good at two instruments and Ymir is merely passable at one?

"Ymir," he says, glancing back at her, "I know I went a little off the deep end for a while-"

"Just a little," she mutters, hugging her bassoon.

"-but you don't have to worry about me," he finishes. "I'm fine."

"You're fine," Ymir repeats. 

"I'm just in a good mood today. Why are you being so cranky?"

She thinks about it for a moment, then sighs. "Sorry, it's just- it's the end of the semester, you know. Everyone's fucking dying out there. It's just weird that you seem so, like, I dunno, carefree when finals and recitals are this close."

"Now I'm not stressed enough?" Reiner exclaims, furrowing his brow. "Ymir-"

"I know," she exclaims, stumbling upright with her bassoon. "I'm just, like, trying to be a good friend and shit." 

"You're already a good friend," Reiner says. He adjusts his shirtsleeves, rolling them up past his elbows. "So, are we finished or do you want to run through it again?"

She groans. "I'm not doing the whole thing again."

"I'm just asking. It's your recital." 

Ymir sighs, traipsing back to center stage to ready herself again. "I feel like I'm missing something in the last piece. Like, it's not quite there and Mikkelsen's gonna be able to tell."

"You want to just do that one then?"

She thinks, lips pursed. 

"No," she says finally. She heaves her bassoon into position and takes a breath. "Let's do the whole thing again." 

Balance, she reminds herself, as she begins to play. Just keep things balanced for the next two weeks, and then she'll be free. 

Balance would be the key, actually, if Ymir could remember all the fucking things she was supposed to be balancing.

**Text from Sasha**  
are u on ur way?  
hello??  
YMIR   
in case u forgot, ur makeup initiation test was tonight!!

Ymir reads this text on her way out of Saber Hall that week, tugging her bassoon case home under the moonlight after another exhausting rehearsal. She's absolutely ready to go home and collapse on her bed until the next morning, but then she sees Sasha's messages. She stops abruptly, shoes scuffing against the sidewalk.

"Tits," Ymir hisses. Looks like she's not going home after all. 

The Beta house is quiet when she finally stumbles through the door (she may or may not have sprinted across campus to get here- Sasha sent several angry face emojis, and then a single knife emoji, which was maybe the most terrifying text Ymir has ever gotten), but the lights are still on in the study room. Ymir finds Sasha there, sitting behind stacks of papers and folders.

Sasha glances up when Ymir approaches the table, and she instantly contorts her face into a frown. Or, at least as close to a frown as Sasha can get.

"Where have you been?!" she exclaims, springing up out of her chair. "The makeup test was tonight!"

"I know," Ymir sighs. She drops her bassoon case onto the floor and rubs her forehead. "I mean, I kind of knew- okay, I did know, really, I just forgot."

"I told you to write it down in your planner!"

"You knew I don't actually use my planner," Ymir exclaims. "I was just practicing, okay? My dress rehearsal's in two days and I just know that it's not going to be good enough for Dr. Mikkelsen unless I'm practicing up until the very last minute."

Sasha's face softens. She pauses for a moment, staring at Ymir, then sits back down. "Okay, sit down."

Ymir is... okay, more than a little wary, because who the fuck sends a knife emoji, honestly, but she takes the seat across from Sasha and reluctantly accepts the huge stack of papers that is pushed her way. 

"I can give you one last chance to pass the test this semester," Sasha says as Ymir thumbs the first few papers in the stack. "But if you miss the next retest next week, or if you fail, then you'll have to wait until next semester to be initiated." 

The papers are torn at the edges, apparently having been ripped out of a spiral notebook. Some of them contain other scribbles that seem to be notes from Sasha's art history classes, but mostly, the pages are full of Beta history, the things that Ymir should have been taking notes on all semester in her new member education classes. She frowns as she browses through the papers. 

"Are these all of your notes?" she exclaims. "Your handwriting is terrible."

"I'm an artist," Sasha huffs. "And yes, these are the notes I took when I was a new member. I can't actually give you the answers to the test, because that would be cheating, but since you didn't take notes of your own, this is the best I can do."

Ymir glances up at her. "Isn't this, like, also cheating?"

Sasha shrugs. "Maybe. But I'm the one who writes and grades the test, so it doesn't matter. Also, it's not a real test anyways."

"Can you just say I passed then?" Ymir mutters, dropping her elbow onto the table. She puts her forehead in her hand and sighs. "I'm not going to have time to learn all of this by next week. I have my recital."

"I know you're busy," Sasha says, leaning forward. "But it's an open book test, remember? Just read through some of the stuff, put it in order, and you'll do fine."

"Ugh, fine," Ymir mutters, dragging a hand down her face. She lets go, staring down at the papers. "I guess that is, like, literally the least you could be asking of me right now, so I'll find a way to do it." 

Sasha watches her for a moment in silence, her hands folded across the table. There's a sketchbook open just next to her, with the unfinished touches of a design for something, and she picks up her pencil now, twirling it in her hands as she purses her lips.

"Can I ask you something?" she says. 

Ymir glances across the table at her. "Yes, I have considered dropping out of school and joining a biker gang."

"It's a serious question," Sasha says.

Oh, they're doing this then. 

Ymir leans back in her seat, folding her legs up so her feet sit on the edge of her chair, and she hugs her knees. "As long as it's not about my recital," she mutters. "I can't think about that again tonight." 

"No, it's something else. I'm just wondering- why did you join Beta?"

Oh, they're doing  _this_. 

"Well," Ymir says, then trails off. What the hell is she supposed to say? "I mean, I know I don't really seem like the sorority type. Is that why you're asking?"

"I'm just curious," Sasha says, shrugging. "And maybe, yeah, that's a little bit of it. I know that's stereotyping, but you have to know that you don't seem super enthused to take a vow of loyalty and all that."

Ymir narrows her eyes. "Is that what happens during initiation?"

"Pass the test and you'll find out."

Ymir sighs, kicking her feet to the floor. "Okay, I guess I should just tell you," she says, pulling herself upright again. "I mean, I don't want to admit this, but I feel like I should."

She pushes the stack of papers to the side and looks across the table to Sasha. "So, this is going to sound shitty."

"...okay."

"It probably is shitty," Ymir says. "But I didn't join Beta because I actually wanted to be in a sorority."

Sasha nods.

"I had this idea," Ymir says, leaning her elbows on the table. "I thought... it's so stupid, looking back on it, but I was just, like- infatuated with Historia. And I just thought, like, if I joined her sorority, then she'd, I dunno, see me as an equal. And I'd have a real shot at getting to be with her."

"So, you were trying to join Zeta Chi?"

"Yeah, but they turned me down," she says. "And I was going to give up, but then you guys invited me back, and I thought that maybe being in any sorority would help me get close to Historia. Just being in the same league as her, literally- you know?"

She sighs. "But then she turned me down, and yeah, you're caught up on everything else."

Ymir glances to Sasha, waiting for a reaction. Sasha stares at her.

"Oh, wait," Sasha exclaims after a second of silence. "Is that supposed to be news to me?"

Ymir furrows her brow. "You don't seem surprised at all."

"You're not subtle," Sasha says. "I knew what was going on."

"You knew this whole time?" Ymir exclaims, sitting up. "How could you have known all of that?"

"I didn't know everything," Sasha says, holding out a hand. "That would have been a weirdly specific amount of information for me to guess."

Ymir drops her forehead into her hands. "Oh my god, I thought I was being so stealthy."

"I could tell there was something else going on," Sasha continues. "I mean- Ymir, I'm glad you joined Beta, obviously, but I was surprised when you did. We all liked you during recruitment, obviously, but it wasn't a shock that you didn't make our first round of bids. You were always halfway somewhere else, like you couldn't be bothered to be fully interested in us."

Ymir purses her lips. "Well- I mean, I wasn't. Back then, at least. I was pretty preoccupied."

"So what about now?" Sasha asks, raising her eyebrows. "Where do you stand now?"

Ymir doesn't answer that question. She's thinking, because, honestly, she's not really sure anymore. Months ago, she would have been loathe to admit that she likes Beta, that she's having a good time here; it's not so hard to say now, but she's still not sure what that means for her. This semester has been a lot to handle. She thinks she's going to come out on top, once her recital is finished, but she can't afford to let anything else distract her. And Beta- it's the most recent addition to her life. If anything has to go, then...

"Look," Sasha says, disrupting her thoughts. "You've already put in a lot of effort to be here. I'm glad, but I want to make sure that you're doing all of this for the right reason."

Ymir sits with her elbows crossed over the table, staring at Sasha. "Look," she says, "it's just, like, the way you guys talk about Beta, you know, it's... it's serious."

"It is serious," Sasha echoes.

She pauses. "Okay, it's not the end of the world or anything. But we've all chosen to be here, to make these people part of our sisterhood. We've chosen to stand together in what Beta represents, so it means a lot to us. It's like family."

She pushes her hair back over her shoulders. "Being initiated into Beta, or any sorority, means making a promise to be loyal to the sisterhood. It stands for something." 

Ymir stares at her. "...huh."

"I know it sounds fake as hell," Sasha exclaims. "And it is, I guess, whatever. I just want to make sure, honestly, that you're going through with this because it's what you want. It's something special, so you shouldn't do it just because you feel like you have to." 

"I don't know if that's how I feel," Ymir mumbles, and really, she doesn't, although she doesn't know if that's not how she feels either. She promised Reiner that she would stick with Beta just until initiation, and she meant that; but that was a long time ago. A lot has happened since then. Things have changed, and she's just not sure where she stands. 

"I know," Sasha says. She pushes the notes closer to Ymir. "So just- take the next week to think about it." 

This isn't what she needs right now. She knows that she has to make a decision about Beta soon (and sooner rather than later, so she can just get some delicious fucking balance in her life), but at least she can put it off until after the recital dress rehearsals. Once she has proven herself there, then she'll have time to think about other things. Then she'll have time to breathe again. 

She schedules one last rehearsal with Reiner for the evening for the dress rehearsal. It's not flawless; Reiner insists that it's a good sign and she just needs some room to breathe now. Still, he doesn't stop her from sprinting outside to snatch the last rehearsal slot of the night in the performance hall. 

It's a rite of passage for the juniors, apparently, because Ymir watches everyone else trudge into the building that evening, bags under their eyes. 

Reiner leaves with his cello, headed to his own all-night practice session. 

"Try not to overwork yourself," he says as Ymir begins to lock herself down in a practice room. "Huh, really thought I wouldn't every say that to you."

She glares at him through the crack in the door. "Don't tell me what to do. I'll play all night if I have to."

"What time's your slot in the performance hall?"

Ymir rubs her eyes. "Three a.m."

Reiner grimaces. "That's the death slot."

"I know, it was the last one left. That kind of seems unfair, doesn't it? Why should I even have to book a room for three in the fucking morning?"

"Music students are a bunch of workaholics," Reiner says as he leaves. "See you tomorrow."

Ymir mutters a goodbye, then locks the practice room door and chugs an energy drink. She has to stay up for one last chance to practice in the performance hall. That's where she'll be tomorrow night, slaying her fucking dress rehearsal, as long as she can make it through tonight. Ugh, she'll skip class in the morning, whatever. Nothing important will be happening in wind quartet anyways.

(Who is she kidding? Nothing important ever happens in wind quartet.)

She manages to do it- between the power of energy drinks, the determination to do something good for once, and the sheer terror of being underprepared for her recital, Ymir manages to stay up until her deadly practice slot. Then she marches down to the performance hall, kicks out a trombone player who begs for five more minutes, and relishes in her one hour of peace and practice. 

She's going to do fine, she reminds herself. She's going to do just fine. 

She plays through her program just once. She'd planned for a full two run-throughs to occupy her whole practice slot, but when she pulls through the last note of her final piece, the smooth song of the bassoon echoing through the hall, she thinks that Reiner may be right. She's overdoing it. She'd found a perfect sound, and she'd worked herself past it. If she just takes a few breaths and gets a good night's sleep, then she'll be fine. 

Either way, she's wiped when she finishes playing through her program, and she collapses on the edge of the stage, legs hanging over the side. Just a few minutes of silence to herself, and then she'll pack up and go. She'll go home, get some sleep, and be totally refreshed for tomorrow. She's absolutely not going to fall asleep right here...

The door slams, and Ymir jerks upright, cursing.

"Jesus," she yells. She blinks into the dark room and sees someone pacing down the aisle towards the stage. "Bertholdt, what the hell?" 

He reaches the edge of the pit and blinks up at her. "Sorry. I knocked. Didn't you hear me?"

"No, man," Ymir exclaims, rubbing her eyes. "It's ass o'clock in the morning, I'm fucking dead."

"It's  _what_?"

"What are you doing here?" Ymir says, setting her bassoon aside on the stage. "I thought you didn't believe in pulling all-nighters."

"I don't, normally," he says. "But this is different, you know."

"Sure," Ymir deadpans. "So what are you doing in here during my rehearsal slot?"

"It doesn't look like there's much rehearsing going on."

"Because I'm an amazing musician and I'm done rehearsing," Ymir says. "What are you doing here?" 

He stands awkwardly with his hands in his pockets, and though she can tell he's tired too, he looks remarkably well put-together for someone who normally does not stay up past midnight. Then again, Ymir has the sneaking suspicion that he's not actually staying up late to practice, and instead decided to wander down here and have a heart-to-heart.

She's totally cool without that.

"I wanted to thank you," Bertholdt says finally.

Ymir rolls her eyes. "Please don't."

"I'm being serious," he says.

He doesn't move as she stands and moves around the stage, collecting the strewn sheet music that she'd carelessly tossed on the floor. He waits until she comes downstage again, the sheet music shuffled together in her hands, to continue speaking. 

"I don't know what you said to Reiner," he says, "but he needed to hear it."

"It wasn't anything that he hadn't heard before," Ymir says, bending to shove the sheet music into her backpack.

"But I think he needed to hear it from you," Bertholdt says. "So, thank you."

"Whatever," Ymir sighs. She plops down again, sitting just on the edge of the stage. "So this means that you guys are cool now, right? This weird fighting shit is over and I can go back to living a normal life?"

Bertholdt falters. 

"We're fine," he says as soon as Ymir's eyes widen.

"No, what the hell was that?" she exclaims.

Her voice reverberates through the performance hall. Damn, those acoustics are good. 

"It was nothing," Bertholdt insists.

"You hesitated." 

"We're fine," Bertholdt repeats. "I mean- well, nothing's perfect, and we're just busy with recitals and finals, so we haven't really-"

"You haven't talked about any of this?" Ymir exclaims, her hands clenching at the edge of the stage. "Really?"

"We've been talking," Bertholdt says. "But-"

"But what? You guys spend every fucking day together, how hard can it be to find time?"

"That's what makes it so hard," Bertholdt exclaims, nearly cutting her off. "He's not just my boyfriend, Ymir, he's my stand partner and my roommate and my best friend too. We can't afford to make anything worse right now, not with recitals next week, so we're just holding off on everything for now."

"Oh my god," Ymir moans. "This is never gonna end, is it?"

She leans over, burying her face in her hands. 

"I love him," she hears Bertholdt says. "You know that. It's just-"

He hesitates on his last words. Ymir thinks that he isn't going to say anything else, just cut himself off and leave, but the moment she looks up again, he continues with the very last words Ymir ever wanted to hear. 

"Sometimes," Bertholdt says, "I think we were better off as just friends."

Just friends, Ymir thinks: words that have haunted her for months.

"You guys literally can't keep your hands off each other," she snorts. Dear god, there has to be something to fix this.

"Well, what if that was just a fling?" Bertholdt exclaims, throwing his hands out. "I mean- we've been friends for so long, as long as we've known each other, and last year when we started dating, it just seemed so natural, but..."

He sighs. "I don't know. Maybe we were moving too fast. It's not like we don't get along or anything, it's just- living together makes things different, and after everything that happened this summer-"

"What exactly happened this summer?" Ymir exclaims.

Bertholdt stares up at her. "...what?"

"Reiner said something about that too," Ymir says. "Did something happen on tour? Is that what all of this is about?"

"Nothing really happened," Bertholdt says, the same bullshit answer that Reiner tried to feed her, and Ymir rubs her forehead.

"I swear to god-"

"Nothing happened that you need to worry about."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It was- someone else," Bertholdt says hesitantly, finally. "But it just made me think- there are so many things we've never talked about, like real things, about our lives and our futures, and I just-..."

He trails off with a sigh. "I just don't know where we're headed. And it's the first time that I haven't been sure about us. And that scares me." 

Ymir stares at him for a long time, her jaw clenched. She's not quite sure what she was expecting him to say- some kind of dramatic outburst that reveals the clear root of the problem and the obvious solution, like, that would have been nice. But this is something, she supposes, and more than she's been able to get out of them so far.

She realizes, with a tightening in her stomach, that the puzzle is becoming clearer after all, but the pieces aren't fitting together the way she wants them to. Reiner's insecurity and paranoia, coupled with Bertholdt's uncertainty, put together with their general shittiness at communication... 

It's a flight risk waiting to happen. She's not sure which one of them would run away first.

"Okay," she says, finally, rubbing her eyes. "I- okay, first of all, thanks for dumping all of this on me the night before our dress rehearsals."

"How do you think I feel?" Bertholdt says glumly.

"Second," Ymir says, ignoring him. "Listen. Bertholdt. You have to talk to him."

"I know," he says, but Ymir shakes her head.

"I'm serious," she says. "I'm- look, I'm not a fucking love expert or anything, but I've been learning a lot this year, okay, and I've been given a lot of good advice. I don't like what's happening here, but I know that you guys can work this shit out. Just sit down and talk about it like adults."

Bertholdt is quiet for a moment.

"I know you're right," he says then. "I'm just worried it won't be that easy." 

"It's like you said. You love him, he loves you. Isn't that enough?"

Is she naive for believing that love is enough? Hasn't she made this exact mistake? 

"He already thinks I'm going to leave him," Bertholdt says.

Ymir rolls her eyes. "He's just paranoid, you know that."

"But what if he's right?" Bertholdt asks.

Ymir blinks. "What?"

"I would never leave him for someone," Bertholdt says instantly. "I wouldn't even imagine doing that. I'm just saying, there's a lot happening right now and I'm afraid that if it gets any worse, I'm not going to be able to deal with it and I'm just going to leave."

Bertholdt's the flight risk.  _Oh god_ , Bertholdt's the flight risk.

Ymir looks at him from across the pit. "Do you want that?"

He looks back. "No."

"Then don't let it happen."

"I don't know if it's that easy."

"It's not going to be easy!" Ymir exclaims, jumping off the stage into the pit. "Life is hard and it sucks and I get that, but you do things for the people you love no matter how hard it is or how much it sucks. Because that's the kind of shit that matters!"

Bertholdt stares at her as she catches her breath. Ymir drags a hand down over her eyes, leaning on a forlorn music stand, and huffs.

"It doesn't get to be easy," she finishes, "just because you don't want to put in the work.

He watches her for a moment more, face unbroken; then he shifts on his feet, an awkward smile passing over his lips. 

"You have been learning, haven't you?" he asks.

"Well, I've been fucking up a lot this year," Ymir says, leaning her back against the stage. "Luckily, I learn from my mistakes."

Bertholdt sighs, shoving his hands back into his pockets. "I'm sorry for dumping all of this on you. I just- needed to talk to someone, I guess."

"Next time," Ymir exclaims, "schedule an appointment with me instead of interrupting my private rehearsal time." 

Bertholdt nods. "Noted. And uh- thank you." 

"Stop thanking me," Ymir mutters as she turns back to the stage. "Now get out of here. It's, like, four in the morning, dude, I can't believe you're still awake." 

Ymir watches him go, his figure fading into the shadows as he walks back up the aisle and disappears through the door. For a moment longer, she stands there in the pit; she lets herself slump back until her head lies on the stage, and she stares up into the bright lights, her mind buzzing. Then she goes home and, eventually, coaxes herself to sleep. 

On Thursday afternoon, Ymir heads to the concert hall in her recital outfit. It's non-traditional, but then again, no one was expecting her to wear a ballgown. She found these pants months ago at a thrift store and, amazingly, they fit her perfectly. A plaid of deep red strokes and thin white lines envelops the black pants that she belts around her waist; paired with the black flats (the only non-sneaker or boot that she owns) and a thin black turtleneck (guaranteed not to get too hot on stage), it becomes the perfect outfit. Unusual, of course, but unique to her. She's been looking forward to donning it all semester, to finally getting on stage and proving that she belongs in this music school. 

The dress rehearsal is here, finally, but when Ymir stares at herself in the mirror, she realizes she has never felt less prepared. 

Balance, she reminds herself on her walk to the concert hall. If she can just clear her mind, forget about everything else, then maybe she can still-

"You alright?" Reiner asks her in the green room. 

Ymir clamps the last pieces of her bassoon together. It's hot beneath her fingers, and she wipes the sweat off on her pants. 

"I'm fine," she says. "Let's just- I just need to get this over with." 

The strings perform first. Reiner and Bertholdt both have their rehearsals, but Ymir can hardly pay attention with all the thoughts swimming in her head, trying to keep herself calm, trying to make sure she won't forget anything. They get good notes from Dr. Mikkelsen, as far as she can tell, and once the strings have finished, the spotlight turns to the brass. It's the smallest section in the junior class, and it doesn't take long to work through all of them. Still, evening has fallen by the time Dr. Mikkelsen directs his attention to the woodwinds, and Ymir has been sitting in this cramped chair for hours, barely paying attention to the performances before her. 

"We'll begin with our smallest section," Dr. Mikkelsen is saying, and suddenly his gaze is on her. "Bassoon. Ymir, take your place."

Her footsteps echo in her ears as she crosses to center stage. From the corner of her eye, Reiner catches her attention as he takes his place at the piano. He adjusts his sheet music, gives her a nod, and motions for her to begin whenever she's ready.

Whenever she's ready. 

Ymir stands at center stage, bassoon clutched to her chest, and swallows the lump in her throat.

She's not going to be ready. She can feel it, the knot in her stomach twisting up again, and even after all those hours of hard work, all those late nights in the practice rooms, she knows, as she lifts the bassoon to her lips, that she's not ready. 

She breathes the first note, and her performance begins. 

When Ymir finishes her program, it's on a weak ending note, a trailing, bubbling squeak that leaves her red and breathless. She lowers her bassoon, gasping for air. She searches for Dr. Mikkelsen's face in the audience, for some kind of reassurance, but the stage lights are too bright. 

She glances over her shoulder.

At first, Reiner doesn't see her, still holding out the final note on the piano. His face is turned down, away from her, but his expression is unmistakable. He's holding back a grimace. When he notices her watching as he lifts his hands from the keys, he manages an encouraging smile. 

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

"Ymir," Dr. Mikkelsen says, stepping forward to the pit. He speaks softly, his voice low under the harsh lighting, and Ymir treads to the edge of the stage to meet him. 

She swallows.

"I don't know what you've been doing these last few weeks," Dr. Mikkelsen says, staring up at her over the rim of his glasses. "But it's clear that you did not take my advice to heart."

"No," Ymir exclaims before she can stop herself. "I did, honestly, I've been practicing so much-"

"It doesn't show," he interrupts. "You've regressed."

"Please," she says. "Just let me- I'm just having an off day."

"What did I tell you about balance?"

"Dr. Mikkelsen," Reiner says, standing from the piano bench. "Ymir's really been practicing nonstop-"

Dr. Mikkelsen raises one hand, and Reiner falls silent.

He turns back to Ymir.

"I think it's time," he says, "that you reconsider your place in the music school." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyways i'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/acker_mom), so when tumblr blows up, you can find me there


	14. the long way home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously on soul sisters: ymir faced her worst nightmare. this week: ymir makes a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soul sisters will return in the new year! exact date tbd. should tumblr literally implode by then, you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/acker_mom) and [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/ackermom).
> 
> the second half of this story will feature ymir's attempt at yoga, some dr. seuss themed festivities, the world's weirdest double date, an unreasonable amount of sports, an even more unreasonable amount of alcohol, and historia finally fulfilling her role as a main character. so drink responsibly and stay tuned!

**Text from Reiner**  
it's not as bad as it seems honestly  
he can only grade you for your actual recital anyways 

 **Text from Reiner**  
you just had an off day  
i've heard you play your program, you know it   
you'll be fine on recital day

**Text from Reiner**  
we can schedule another rehearsal if you want?

**Text from Reiner**  
ymir??

She knows she should answer him. She gave Reiner so much shit for falling off the radar when his life was crashing down around him, but now that it's happening to her- well. Now, she gets it.

Ymir had thought- really, truly- that this semester could not get any worse. Maybe things wouldn't actually get better until after winter break, but things could definitely not get any worse. At the very least, she couldn't fuck this up more badly than she had last semester, when she sputtered and failed at her tour audition. 

And then she bombed her recital dress rehearsal and cried onstage in front of everyone as Dr. Mikkelsen told her to go home, so, basically, things have gotten a lot, lot worse.

It's only been a day. Actually, it's been less than that. Twelve hours since the worst moment of her life, and that's including all the shit that's happened in the last few months. Twelve hours later, Ymir wakes up in her dorm room, curled up beneath a blanket, her phone buzzing ceaselessly beside her pillow. She comes to slowly, blinking into the dim light, before she realizes, remembers.

Reiner's calling her. His name flashes on the screen, and Ymir gives herself a few weary seconds to stare at it before she slams ignore and flops back down in bed. 

There are a dozen more unread texts from him lingering on her phone, besides the ones that she read last night in a teary haze on the floor of her room, too devastated to do anything else. But she hadn't been able to respond then, feeling herself falling, and she can't respond now. There's nothing to say. Her life is over. 

The worst part, though, is-

Last year, when she blew her summer tour audition, it was because she'd fucked up; she'd spent the night before sucking down a bottle of wine to calm her nerves, then lighting in a joint in a bathroom stall because it seemed like a good idea at the time. That was a stupid decision, and look, she'll own that one.

But, this...

This time, she'd spent the night before practicing her ass off. 

And look where it got her. 

Something pings on her phone, and Ymir starts, jerking upright in bed as she fumbles to silence the noise. She glances at the screen. Between the dozen unread texts from Reiner and the innocuous message from Sasha asking how her dress recital went, there's an alarm going off:  _practice_  is all it says, and Ymir wants to hit herself in the head. She'd remembered to turn off her actual alarm last night (like hell she was going to music history this morning, fuck that class on a normal day), but she'd forgotten about this one- her reminder to rehearse the recital program that is very likely going to get her kicked out of school. 

With a sigh, Ymir lets her head fall back as she closes her eyes. God, it's tempting just to go back to sleep, to revert back to her ways of the past, when she was a mindless underclassmen who thought juries were hard work. It would be so easy, she thinks, to just give up now, to throw in her bassoon and resign herself to the fate that has always been coming, has always been lingering in the back of her mind. 

She cracks her eyes open and glances across the room. From the bed, she can see herself in the mirror above her wardrobe. She looks like shit, sleeplessness smudged all around her eyes, still tinged pink from the uncontrollable stream of tears that followed her home last night. She looks like she's already lost. 

Her phone dings again. 

Ymir glances down. 

**Text from Sasha**  
what time is your recital on sunday? because i know you won't put it in the group chat lol  <3

Ymir stares at that text for a long time. 

Then, she sucks in a breath.

Fuck this. She's not going to let Dr. Mikkelsen win.

It's freezing when she finally steps outside on Friday morning, which is incentive enough to turn around and head home. But Ymir tugs her bassoon case tighter across her shoulder and starts across campus towards Saber Hall, her pocket still full of unanswered messages. She makes a brief stop at the coffee shop- partially because it starts to snow and she is not here for that, but mostly to stock up on caffeine and other fuel- and then she carries on, trudging across the icy grass to her final destination.

The lobby is empty when Ymir enters, but the building hums with energy. Finals preparation has begun in earnest, and through the barely soundproof walls, she can hear recitals, juries, and keyboarding exams, all being frantically and thoroughly rehearsed. Somewhere, a flutist squawks. Well, at least Ymir won't be the only one to fail this week. 

She trudges to the reservation board to make sure that no one's tried to cop her practice room (who do freshmen think they are), and as she's flipping through the sheets, someone familiar emerges from around the corner. 

"Oh, hi," Marcel exclaims after nearly running into her.

Ymir grunts back. "Hi, Marcel."

"Still working hard, huh?" he asks as she flips to the right sheet.

She squints at her reservation- thank god, she still has her room- then glances at him. "Yes, Marcel, despite completely bombing my dress rehearsal yesterday, I am still working hard."

Marcel winces. "I didn't mean-"

"I know you didn't," Ymir says. She sighs. "Sorry. I'm still a bit raw."

"Well, we're all rooting for you," Marcel says with a smile, like that's supposed to make her feel better, the fact that everyone else definitely got together and talked about her behind her back. "But, uh, just so you know-"

Someone else rounds the corner then, and suddenly, for the first time in her life, Ymir is very appreciative of Marcel's genuine goodness, because she realizes, when the fluorescent lights glint off the half-moon glasses that appear just then, that he was trying to warn her about Dr. Mikkelsen's impending approach. 

Dr. Mikkelsen glances down at her. "Ymir."

Being kicked out of music school would be worth it if she got to punch him in the face.

Ymir sneers at him. "Hi, Dr. Mikkelsen."

Marcel beams. "She's here to practice." 

She takes it back- she fucking hates this kid. 

Dr. Mikkelsen narrows his eyes. "Hm."

"Good talk," Ymir says, curling her fist around the strap of her bassoon case. "I'm gonna go practice now. See you on Sunday."

She very narrowly resists the urge to add a big  _fuckwad_  at the end of that sentence.

Her fire has faded a little by the time she finishes the first run-through of her recital program. Seeing Dr. Mikkelsen downstairs didn't help; actually, the stupid look on his face just reminded Ymir of everything that she has worked so hard to keep, and everything that she is probably going to lose. She keeps playing anyways, because, well- what has she got to lose? She's already fucked, so the least she can do is play her heart out and stick it to Dr. Mikkelsen. 

All she has to do is practice non-stop for the next three days, even harder than she practiced last week, even harder than she practiced over Thanksgiving break. So, basically, no distractions, no interruptions-

Someone knocks on the door.

Ymir slams her bassoon into her lap with a huff. She has the room booked for three hours, and it's only been thirty minutes. Who the fuck would have the audacity-

The door opens then, and Annie nods at her with a small, "sup." 

"Sup," Ymir exclaims. "Can you read?"

"I don't want your practice room," Annie says, crossing her arms. She leans against the doorframe. God, she looks cool doing it too. Ymir would just look stupid if she tried to pull off that pose.

"Well, what do you want?" Ymir asks, slouching down in her seat. "Come to offer me another blunt?"

"Nah," Annie says. "Actually, pancakes." 

Ymir blinks. "What?"

"You're spiraling for, like, the tenth time this semester," Annie says, staring at her. "You need to take a break."

"Okay, first of all," Ymir exclaims, holding up a finger. "We've only actually known each other for, like, six weeks, so I don't know what you think you know about my spirals."

Annie looks at her. "Remember that time I offered you a blunt?"

Ymir stares back. Oh, yeah... Annie does know about her spirals.

"Fine," she grumbles. "What's this about pancakes?"

"We're going to IHOP. You should come."

"I'm practicing," Ymir exclaims, leaning forward in her chair. "Because, in case you didn't know, I am in grave danger of being kicked out of school."

"Oh, I know. I was there last night."

"Then you know," Ymir says, turning her bassoon upright, "that I don't have time to get pancakes."

Annie pushes her bangs back. "You know that only your actual recital counts for a grade, right?"

"Of course I know that," Ymir mutters.

As if that matters. She saw Dr. Mikkelsen's face last night. Unless she can perform a fucking miracle during her recital, his mind is already made up. 

"Look," Annie says. She unfolds her arms and steps into the room, letting the door fall shut behind herself as she tucks her hands into the pockets of her jacket. "You're not doing yourself any favors working yourself to death like this."

"I'm not  _not_  doing myself any favors," Ymir counters.

Annie glares at her. 

Annie glares at her. 

Ymir wrings her bassoon strap from around her neck and throws the instrument down into her lap. "What am I supposed to do? I'm literally going to be kicked out of school, so I might as well work myself to death just in case God herself decides to give me another shot! Isn't that the motto of music students anyways?" 

She slumps down in her seat, sighing. "Everyone was always telling me that I didn't practice enough, but then I did, and it still wasn't enough. I just- I mean, maybe, if I keep going, then I stand some kind of chance."

"You need to take a break," Annie repeats.

Ymir huffs.

"When was the last time you weren't panicking about your recital?" Annie asks. 

"It's been a fucking while," Ymir mutters. 

She wonders how much of Dr. Mikkelsen's advice to her was pure bullshit. Sure, she practiced her ass off before the dress rehearsal, but she also spent a considerable amount of time working herself up over achieving balance or whatever. And she thought she was getting somewhere- trying to fix Reiner and Bertholdt's weirdness, making sure that Historia doesn't hate her, and deciding whether or not to stay in Beta. She worked so hard to make everything better, and look where that got her. She actually made everything worse. 

Except, for once, maybe the Historia situation. That's the one thing Ymir feels semi-good about, knowing that she was able to resolve something. That's the one thing she hasn't had to worry about in weeks. 

As for Beta- well. She knows, deep down, that she has already made up her mind about that. Provided that she's even allowed to remain at this school for the next semester, she needs to be completely focused on her music. She can't afford to have any more distractions, not after all the mistakes she made this year. This semester was supposed to be the one where she finally got her shit together, but it turned out to be her lowest point so far.

It's not like she's cut out for the sorority lifestyle anyways. Sure, she's had some fun this semester with the Betas, but she never imagined herself actually committing to a sorority. And there's more that goes along with being an initiated sister- there's socials and formals and committees and rules and responsibilities. There's a space there for her; but it's a tight fit, and Ymir doesn't know if she wants to squeeze in.

"Look," Annie says again, drawing Ymir's attention back to her. "I've heard you up here practicing. You know your shit inside and out, and from what I've heard, you're fucking good. You just had stage fright or something. If you give yourself a little breathing room, it won't happen again."

Ymir rubs her tired eyes. "It wasn't stage fright. It was just- everything else."

"Then don't think about everything else," Annie says.

Ymir snorts. "That's easier said than done."

"I'm serious. You have to find your headspace and fucking stay there. Don't think about anything else."

She glares up at Annie. "You just told me that I shouldn't think about anything but my recital."

"I mean," Annie says, a firm line in her voice, "when you're performing, you should be completely in the moment. No distractions."

"That's what I'm trying to do," Ymir says. "But it's not working, so I just need to practice more-"

"You need to take a break," Annie says. "You're letting everything else get in your way. So, right now, take a break. Get all that shit out of your head. Then come back tomorrow and try again. You'd be surprised how much it helps."

Ymir sighs. Maybe Dr. Mikkelsen's not full of shit after all. This is the same thing he told her weeks ago, when he ordered her to take a break from practicing. Maybe she's just really bad at following advice.

She glances up at Annie. "How the fuck do you know so much anyways? Why do you always give such good advice?"

Annie shrugs. "I almost got kicked out of high school."

"Oh, cool," Ymir exclaims. "So, there's one thing we have in common."

"I pulled this exact shit," Annie says. "I slaved over a huge college audition and blew it because I'd gotten myself so worked up about it. So, take my advice and give yourself some space."

Ymir furrows her brow. "What does that have to do with you almost getting kicked out of school?"

"Oh," she says. "Well, when I got rejected, I threatened to burn down the adjudicator's house."

Ymir pinches the bridge of her nose. "I knew you were fucking crazy."

"I wouldn't have done it."

"Why would you even feel the need to clarify that?"

Annie starts for the door, gesturing for Ymir to follow. "Come to IHOP with us. We'll help you study for your initiation test."

"Uh, no offense," Ymir says, "but studying is not really my idea of taking a break."

That doesn't appear to matter, because thirty minutes later she is squished into a booth at IHOP, halfway through her own personal coffee carafe, and being made to recount the minute details of Beta Alpha Epsilon's history while she waits desperately for the gingerbread pancakes that she ordered ten minutes ago. 

"I don't know if I, like, actually need to study for this," Ymir says, pouring herself another cup of coffee. "I mean, I've already taken it once, so I feel like I should be able to just guess." 

Sasha glares at her from across the table. On Ymir's other side, Mikasa gives a small tut of her tongue without looking up from her own study spread, which includes not only an enormous textbook and graphing calculator, but also her laptop with a million Excel sheets open, because apparently this is what happens to chemistry majors during finals week. 

"Dunno," Annie says from Sasha's side of the table. "You must've worked pretty hard to fail the first time."

"Okay, well, in my defense-"

"It's literally an open book test," Mikasa mutters.

Ymir slams the coffee carafe on the table a little harder than necessary. "In my defense, I am bad at taking tests."

"Even I passed on the first try," Sasha exclaims. She's flipping through the huge stack of notes that she had given Ymir a few weeks ago (and which have remained untouched since). "And when I went through new member ed, it was run by Idil Cortez, who has a pretty thick lisp, so I could only understand, like, a quarter of what she was saying. And I still passed."

"Well," Ymir sighs, stirring sugar into her coffee, "my new member ed teacher never told me that I had to take notes."

Sasha narrows her eyes. "Yes, I did."

"Fine, but I wasn't listening."

"You should've read my lips, I guess."

"God, you're so funny," Ymir grumbles, and Sasha smirks at her before returning to the notes. 

"It's not a hard test," Annie mutters. She takes a sip of her orange juice, like some kind of maniac, because who comes to IHOP for a late night study session and doesn't chug six cups of coffee in five minutes? "It's literally just, like, fifteen multiple choice questions." 

Ymir turns to Mikasa. "By the way," she says loudly, "congratulations on your presidency."

Mikasa doesn't look up from her computer. "Thanks."

"I'm so honored to have you as my new Beta president," Ymir says. She glances to Annie. "Annie, congrats on losing the presidency to Mikasa."

Annie glares at her. 

"Slate committee member," Ymir says, tapping on Sasha's stack of notes. "Do you have anything to say for yourself on this matter?"

Sasha wrinkles her nose. "What? No. The slating process is confidential."

"You literally yelled about it to an entire coffee shop."

"Well, none of the candidates were there," she says with a shrug. "And those are the only people we were actually trying to keep in the dark." 

She shuffles the pile of notes together until they're neatly stacked, then glances up at Ymir and smiles. "So, let's see what you've got!"

"Oh, god."

"We'll start with something easy," Sasha says. "When was Beta Alpha Epsilon founded?"

Ymir purses her lips. "Uh..." 

"I'll give you a hint. It's in the preamble."

"In the what?"

"The thing that we recite at chapter every week!" Sasha exclaims.

"Oh, the chant that we all say in unison because we're a cult," Ymir exclaims. "Uh... 1890?"

"Wrong," Sasha barks.

"What?"

Mikasa tuts again. "1880."

Ymir leans back in the booth, crossing her arms. "I was close. That should count."

"What's our symbol?" Sasha asks, folding her hands over the table.

"The star, duh. I remember that from recruitment."

"And what does it symbolize?"

"Uh, like, reaching for the heights and shit."

Sasha pauses. "I mean, that's not technically wrong." 

"See? I'm not doing so bad!" 

Annie takes another sip of orange juice. "Name all five founders." 

"Uh," Ymir says. She thinks. "Okay, so there's Sarah, Emily, Jane-"

"Those are just random names," Sasha exclaims.

"There were only, like, five names in the 1880s anyways," Ymir says. "Let me see, the last two were, uh, Charlotte and... Millicent."

"All wrong," Sasha says. 

"I didn't get any of those right?"

"You can't just guess," Sasha says. She shoves the stack of notes across the table. "You need to study." 

They continue to quiz Ymir even after their plates of pancakes arrive, and, as predicted, she does terribly. It's not like she doesn't know anything about Beta. She did sit through all of those new member education classes, after all. It's just that, like, she didn't think it was serious. She didn't think she'd actually last long enough in Beta to be considered for initiation. 

She's not sure if she should even show up for the final initiation test. If she's not actually going to go through with it, then maybe it's not even worth pretending. Maybe she should just ghost them and forget that any of this ever happened.

She has the terrible thought, halfway through her fourth carafe of coffee, that maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing ever if she left this school. 

By the time they've finished their pancakes (and coaxed Mikasa away from her laptop, because organic chemistry cannot possibly be that interesting or important), it's well into the night and Ymir is feeling exhausted. She's been grilled over and over again- who was Hannah Fisher? where was the first Beta chapter founded? Who's the current national president of Beta?- and though she's finally getting the right answers (wow, studying is effective after all), she's just ready to go back to her dorm room and snuggle up in her bed for the rest of the long, cold night. 

"Honestly?" Sasha exclaims, slapping down a fistful of bills for the tip. "You should just take the test tomorrow and get it over with."

"Tomorrow?" Ymir echoes, already tugging her coat on. "I thought it was scheduled for next week."

"Well, it is," Sasha says. "But you're the only one left, so we can do it whenever you want." 

"Huh," Ymir says. She pauses. "I mean-"

"Everything's fresh in your mind," Sasha exclaims. "Let's just get it over with." 

Ymir rubs her forehead. Tomorrow- today, actually, because it's definitely past midnight- may not be the best day to add something to her schedule. She's got a lot going on. But if she's going to abandon Beta anyways- then, she guesses, it doesn't matter.

"Yeah, you know what," Ymir says. "That's fine." 

Sasha beams. "Great! Just come by the house tomorrow night then. You're gonna do fine." 

"Cool," Ymir says. "Yeah- uh, cool."

She has a long, uninterrupted night of sleep after that, which is just about the best thing that's happened to her in the last few weeks. Except when she wakes on Saturday morning, a rare winter sunlight streaming through her window, she remembers what she'd been putting out of her mind: her recital.

Her recital. is tomorrow. and. she's still. not. good. enough.

Saber Hall is quiet that morning when Ymir makes her familiar trudge inside, bassoon case clung tightly to her body. She'll give Annie some credit for her advice. Ymir does feel better after taking a break last night, if only because she hasn't been straining her arms and lungs throughout constant practice. Maybe a little distance was good for her, in the end. Maybe Dr. Mikkelsen does know what the fuck he's talking about.

But she’s still not there.

Ymir can feel it in her hands when she practices that morning. For the first time since Thanksgiving, since she overworked herself for the dress rehearsal, her music sounds like hers again. It's familiar, comforting, and she wants desperately to fall back into that rhythm, to find her place there and never leave it again.

But she can feel it. She's not where she needs to be. She found it once, the sweet spot, the space between comfort and chance, the place where she played flawlessly, naturally, without thinking about anything else. She had that pinned down over Thanksgiving break, when she did nothing but play, and then- then she came back to campus, to school, to everything else, and she tried too hard to make things work. 

She's not there yet. She just has to push herself a little further.

Just a little further.

Saturday afternoon comes, and Ymir heads downstairs for the strings recitals. Technically, she's supposed to attend all the junior recitals, because it's a good show of camaraderie, but literally everyone else in the music school can go fuck themselves, so she just finds Reiner in the green room to find out when the cellists are going on. 

He opens his mouth to complain the minute he sees her, and Ymir cuts him off right there.

"Your dress rehearsal was perfect," she exclaims, holding out a finger to shut him up. "You're probably gonna do better than perfect today, so I don't even want to hear it."

Reiner slumps back in his chair, fiddling with his bow. "I know I'll be fine," he says. "But you're not the only one Dr. Mikkelsen has it out for."

"Yeah, but he's not gonna fail you," Ymir says, collapsing on the floor next to him. She shoves her backpack up against the wall and leans back against it, bassoon case set to the side. "The only thing you're in danger of is, like, getting a stern look."

"A stern look means a lot from Dr. M," Reiner says. He sighs. "He's just pissed that we're trading seats next semester."

Ymir raises an eyebrow. "So Bertholdt has actually agreed to this?" 

"Well," Reiner starts, his voice high-pitched, and Ymir rolls her eyes. "He's not thrilled about it, because you're right, the dynamic is going to be a little weird at first. But we'll get used to it. Honestly, he should have been first chair all along."

Ymir glances up from her slouched position against the wall and scans the room. "Where is he anyways? I wanted to wish him bad luck before his recital." 

"He's warming up upstairs," Reiner says. 

She looks at him. "Not in here?"

"I think he just needed some space," Reiner says.

Ymir shoves her face into her hands and rubs her eyes. "You guys are gonna get your shit together over winter break, right?" 

"...what?"

"I don't know if you know this," Ymir exclaims, glancing up, "but I'm gonna guess that Bertholdt did not tell you about his near nervous breakdown during my rehearsal slot earlier this week-"

"Wait, what?"

"-but you guys have a lot of shit to talk about," she finishes, clenching her jaw. "Like, to each other. To your faces. About important things that people in long-term committed relationships should talk about."

Reiner stares at her.

"Just please talk to each other when you're home for Christmas," Ymir exclaims. "You live, like, two blocks away from each other, don't you? It shouldn't be that hard."

"Uh," Reiner says, setting his bow down. "Yeah, I mean, our parents do."

She looks at him. "What?"

"Well," Reiner says. "I'm not going home for Christmas."

"What?" Ymir exclaims, sitting upright. "Is your mom being that much of a piece of shit?"

"No," he says, then shrugs. "I mean, yes, of course she is, but not anymore than normal. And I wouldn't mind seeing her for Christmas, even if she's the worst, but it's just- I think I'm doing going back there."

"Is Bertholdt going home?"

"Well, yeah, he's got little siblings, you know, he should be there for Christmas."

"So, what, you shouldn't?" Ymir asks, furrowing her brow. "You've got that shithead little cousin, haven't you?" 

"I'm trying to put myself in a better place," Reiner insists. "This is my home now. I have the apartment, and Bert'll be back for New Year's, so it's not like I'll be completely alone for break."

He shrugs.

Ymir glares at him. "Putting yourself in a better place means being alone and sad on Christmas?"

"I won't be alone," Reiner exclaims. "The churches around here pay bank for cellists."

"They're just paying you to play Canon in D a hundred times. I literally can't think of anything sadder."

"I'll play Canon in D a thousand times if I have to," Reiner exclaims. "Look, I'm trying to save up for top surgery this summer, and I can't exactly do that at home in the presence of Karina Braun."

Ymir slumps back against the wall. "Well, congrats, I guess, but if I come back in January and you guys haven't talked about your fucking feelings-"

"We'll talk," Reiner says, insistent. "Ymir, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but you don't have to worry about us anymore."

"Like hell I don't," she mutters. "You guys haven't been normal since Halloween, and it's freaking me out."

"I don't think that's such a bad thing." 

"...that your relationship is completely on the rocks?"

Reiner makes a face. "I don't know about completely-"

"Reiner," Ymir says, pushing a hand back through her hair. "I have witnessed both of you have god damn emotional meltdowns over this relationship, so forgive me for worrying, okay, because there's some serious shit that you guys need to address. You were so paranoid that Bertholdt was going to leave you when we talked, right, and then Bertholdt burst into my very important recital rehearsal just to tell me that-"

She stops. "Never mind."

"Tell you what?" Reiner repeats, staring at her. 

"It doesn't matter," Ymir exclaims as she sits up on her knees. She drags her bassoon case and backpack close, readying to leave. "Look, it's just- I feel responsible, okay? Because all of this shit went down after Halloween, which was obviously not a great night for any of us, but I was the one who caused the scene, so, I just want to make sure that I haven't completely ruined everything."

"That was just one time," Reiner says. "This has been- I mean, I don't want to give you the wrong impression, but it's not like you singlehandedly caused us to fight, Ymir. I think this has been coming for a long time."

She stares at him. 

"A lot of things have changed in the last year," Reiner says, choosing his words carefully. "And not always for the best. But- we're going to work it out, alright? We're going to talk."

Ymir tries to swallow that. 

She doesn't know what she was expecting him to say. After everything that's happened, after everything he and Bertholdt have confessed to her, after all of the tiny cracks began to appear, she just thought something would have changed. Things were supposed to be okay by now. 

She should have known better, she supposes, but she just thought that things would work themselves out by now. That's how the semester is supposed to end. Classes end, recitals end, and everything comes to a clean finish. It's neat, it's over, and it's time to move on to better things. This lingering, this hesitation, this unfinished business- it doesn't bode well to her. 

But for once, she thinks, finally, she's ready to move on. Even if no one else is. 

Ymir stands.

"Okay," she says. "Fine."

"Fine," Reiner says, reaching for his bow. 

She heaves her backpack over her shoulders and grabs her bassoon case. "So, then, good luck on your recital." 

Their recitals are beautiful. Ymir sits in the back of the music hall, slumped down in the darkness, watching through weary eyes as the music carries on around her. It's beautiful, but she barely notices the musicians change on the stage. They carry through into each other, and when the recitals finally end, the house lights coming up again, she wakes from her reverie and disappears into the night.

There's a restlessness coursing through her as she wanders across campus, being carried by her feet. After everything that's happened, with everything that's happening- she thought that she would feel better by now. She thought that, even with everything going wrong, something would work itself out. Something had to go right, to be okay, to be stable, but nothing has. Nothing, except-

Ymir finds herself at the Beta house. 

"Oh, there you are," Sasha exclaims when Ymir wanders into the study room. "I was wondering when you'd show up. Ready to ace this initiation test?" 

Ymir takes a breath. "Yeah. Let's do this." 

God, they were all right; the test is embarrassingly easy after just one night of reviewing some notes, and Ymir can't believe how relieved she feels when Sasha hands the test back to her with a smile. 

"You passed," she says. "We'll see you at initiation."

There's a weight off her shoulders. She adds the day of initiation to her calendar that night, and when she sits back to look at it, everything else wiped away, she feels whole. For the first time in a long time, she's able to clear her head; and finally, she understands what Dr. Mikkelsen meant about finding balance. She has something in her life to rely on, even when everything else is out of her hands. She has somewhere to go when she can't solve every problem. She has a home.

The woodwinds' have their recitals on Sunday afternoon, and as the only bassoon, Ymir is the last performance of the night. She dons her black turtleneck and red plaid slacks (a total power move, honestly, wearing the same outfit that she did at her disastrous dress rehearsal, but she's reclaiming it and sticking it in Dr. Mikkelsen's face), and, after one last rehearsal in the quiet practice rooms of Saber, makes her way down to the music hall. 

Reiner meets her backstage. 

"Ready?" he asks, adjusting his cuffs. 

Ymir holds her bassoon upright and takes a deep breath. She feels good. The knot in her stomach is gone, and she feels whole. She can do this. 

"I'm ready," she says. 

The bright lights meet her on stage when she appears from behind the black curtains. Her steps carry lightly under her feet, lifting across the stage to her mark in the center, where she turns, bassoon held deftly in her ready hands, and faces the audience. She can only hear them. The white lights glitter too loudly across her vision for her to see. Still, it doesn't matter. She feels good. She's ready.

She takes a breath at center stage. This performance will make her, and though Ymir wants to hope, to wish, she knows that, really, no matter what, she'll be okay. 

So there's nothing left to think about. Whatever happens afterwards, whatever Dr. Mikkelsen has to say about her music- it's no longer on her. All that left's for her to do is play.

Ymir glances over her shoulder, to Reiner at the piano. He gives her a nod, and when she turns back, facing the blinding lights, she begins to play. 

The first notes come softly, easily. She knows these rhythms and their vibrations; she has played these songs a thousand times, a hundred thousand times, and now, here, she plays without thinking, without wondering. The room is just her and her bassoon. Just her and the tender piece of maple wood that plays through her, of her, with her.

The music moves, carrying from one crescendo to the next as the notes swell. From peak to peak, the bassoon sings. Ymir hardly notices when the first song ends, her eyes closed, and she carries on to the next, the soft lines of the piano traveling with her in the background. 

The second song is the last, the finale in her performance, and it burns harder, faster, leaping between breaths with a staggering quickness. She doesn't pause to steady herself, but she doesn't have to. The leaps come naturally, stirring from within her, jumping down her fingers as she shifts between taps, the melody effortless, thoughtless. 

Rhythm dances as the song nears its finish, and when the final note comes, it sings in a clear stroke. It sings with strength, pulling itself through to the very end, to the last moment when Ymir wakes breathlessly in the shining stage lights. The last note hangs in the air, murmuring through her fingers. She lingers in space for a moment, reveling; then she takes her bow, and the applause echoes in her ears. 

Dr. Mikkelsen is waiting in the foyer. 

Ymir says nothing when she approaches, because there's nothing else she can say, is there? She played with her heart tonight, and that's all that matters.

"Ymir," he says, glancing down at her over the rim of his glasses. "You continue to surprise me." 

She refrains from smirking at him. "I know."

He continues. "Your performance tonight- though unexpected, it was a true display of your ability as a musician. You played admirably."

He furrows his brow. "And though I can hardly believe I'm saying this after your pathetic dress rehearsal earlier this week-"

That wasn't really necessary to bring up.

"Incredibly," Dr. Mikkelsen finishes, "you have passed your junior recital."

Ymir can't help it. She indulges herself in the biggest shit-eating grin she has ever managed. 

"Thanks, Dr. M," she says. "Can't wait to continue tormenting you next semester." 

"Congratulations," he says. "Now stop smiling like an idiot before I change my mind." 

**Text from Sasha**  
basically i'm going to talk about this forever  
but you have another recital next year right?   
that's the really big one 

 **Text from Ymir**  
please DO NOT mention my senior recital  
i have a whole year before i almost get kicked out of school again  
so i'd rather not think about it right now

**Text from Sasha**  
ok fine BUT STILL 10/10 last night, a++, would recommend

**Text from Ymir**  
I GET IT   
you've been talking about it for 20 hours straight

**Text from Sasha**  
it was that good

**Text from Ymir**  
do i have to mention that u couldn't even hear me play

**Text from Sasha**  
well i heard the very lowest notes and those sounded good  
also, judging by the fact that you saved yourself from getting kicked out of school, i feel like you deserve praise

 **Text from Ymir**  
ok thank u  
but please stop texting the group chat every 10 minutes to brag about me

 **Text from Sasha**  
i'm just proud of you  
MY LITTLE PASSED HER JUNIOR RECITAL

**Text from Ymir**  
i'm putting my phone on silent

**Text from Sasha**  
ok hold on, i have something actually important!  
initiation is in two days  
9:00 pm in the chapter house  
be there

**Text from Ymir**  
thanks mom

**Text from Sasha**  
wear black underwear

**Text from Ymir**  
what

The Beta house is quiet on Tuesday evening when the new members arrive. In the foyer, they are met by silent sisters in silky maroon robes and guided down the dimly lit hall. They exchange their clothes for black robes of their own, draped across their necks and shoulders to hang loosely across their frames, to swirl around their feet as they are led through the dark hallways of the house.

Ymir stands in line with the other neophytes as the sisters step between them. Someone places a gentle hand on Ymir's shoulder, and their dark robes brush together as the sister leans in to whisper guidance. She places something soft across the bridge of Ymir's nose- a narrow blindfold, she realizes, the fabric thin enough for her to see the line of tea lights that illuminate the floor. Still, she can't see where she's going.

The sister steps behind her; when the line begins to move, she keeps one hand on Ymir's back as they walk, the other on her arm, guiding her along the path of twinkling lights to the chapter room doors.

From inside, the melody of a soft song begins to swell. Their line eases to a stop just outside the doors, and the sister guiding Ymir leans in to her ear. 

"Are you ready to take the vow?" she whispers.

This is exactly the kind of wack cult shit Ymir has been waiting for.

She takes a breath. "I'm ready."

The doors open, and Ymir is led inside.


	15. back on my beat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously on soul sisters: ymir overcame her hardships, passed her junior recital, and was initiated into beta alpha epsilon. this week: yoga, revelations, and a new relationship tag!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're back! the next few updates will be regular, but i'm traveling a lot in the spring, so there may be times when chapters are delayed by a few weeks. just a heads up.

Winter break comes without fanfare. There are recitals, exams, and farewell dinners at the Beta house; then Ymir is standing on the curb outside her dorm room, bags packed, freezing her ass off as she waits for her mom to pick her up. She leaves campus that December, feeling slightly better about her life than she did the month prior when she left for Thanksgiving, and although she never really looks forward to going home (four weeks exchanging passive-aggressive comments under her breath with her mother), she's glad, at least, to take a break for a while.

So, winter break comes. There are snowstorms and family reunions and long hours spent alone with her bassoon. There are bags packed the day after New Year's Eve in her desperate attempt to get out of the house, to begin a new semester with new resolutions, a new outlook. There's another two weeks of waiting, which she impatiently manages, and then a long, tense car ride, tires treading carefully in the snow as her mother ferries her back to campus.

It feels like she's been gone forever. But when Ymir gets out of the car that morning in January, she takes a breath and suddenly it's as though nothing has changed.

Her dorm room is the same as she left it: an unmade bed, a handful of empty wine bottles forgotten in the corner, and stickers with obscure music references peeling off the cork board above her desk. Her overhead light is still broken, and she plops down in the familiar, worn-in spot on her bed, suitcase left at the door.

The only thing different from before is the citation on her desk for possessing alcohol in a campus dormitory: a Christmas gift from her hard-ass RA.

That, and the small silver jewelry box sitting on her dresser.

From a distance, it's nonchalant; but up close, its identity is unmistakable. Engraved in the lid of the box is an ornate chest of spooling ribbons and curved olive branches. The scroll across the center reads: Βετα Aλφα Eψιλον.

It catches Ymir's eye when she sits down, glinting beneath the lamplight, and she stares at it from across the room before finally going over to examine it. She'd left the box here over winter break, not totally by accident or by design: just an unconscious happening. She picks up the box and opens it quietly. The piece of jewelry inside is vaguely recognizable in her mind from the last time she saw it in a dark room during the initiation ceremony. She holds it up to the light to get a better look.

It's just a pin: a little, gold pin in the shape of a star.

But it means something.

Okay, look- Ymir's not a sentimental person. She hates that Sasha has even put these feelings into her brain, but she can't look at the tiny star badge without remembering the solemn (and kind of creepy) initiation that she experienced last month. There were no blood oaths, but there were plenty of recitations and hymns and promises of undying loyalty to her sisterhood. It was a lot to process, and though she had willingly swallowed the sorority kool-aid, desperate for something solid to hold onto, she's kind of wondering what the hell she's gotten herself into.

A thought her mother shared and had made eloquently clear many times over winter break.

"I can't believe you're paying for this sorority crap on top of everything else," her mom had muttered on the car ride back to campus. "You made too much money at that summer camp or something? You earn $500 and suddenly you think you're Oprah."

"Yes, Mom, I think I'm Oprah," Ymir had grumbled. "And for the record, I made more than $500."

Her mom had scoffed. "Not much more."

Yeah, well, ain't that the sore truth.

She was told- reassured- that Beta won't always be so intense. Initiation is the most elaborate and intimidating ceremony that she has to endure, and from now on, as a fully initiated member, her dues have actually lessened. There's still a bunch of fucking rules, like when she has to wear her jersey and how many events she has to attend and what she can't post on social media (okay, that rule is basically just: don't get drunk or naked on Insta, which Ymir was not planning on doing anyways), but she's finished with the hard part. Now, she gets to enjoy herself.

That's what she wanted, in the end. Not to have feelings or anything, but the Betas have proven themselves to be tight as fuck. Ymir wanted- wants- to be a part of that.

Now, she is.

And it gives her a good feeling about this semester. Okay, she definitely says that at the beginning of every semester, that she'll do better this time, that she'll actually practice and actually socialize; and although not everything went smoothly last fall, she did end up fulfilling those goals. She left her room more than she'd ever thought she would, she saved her place in the music school, and she even made some new friends. It's a good sign, even if some things have been left unresolved.

Unfortunately, she has a meeting with Dr. Mikkelsen on the first day of class. He's not actually her advisor (he's a violist, what the hell does he know about bassoon?), but he's still the chair for junior and senior recitals, still the head honcho of the music school, and still the professor that every music student is forced to counsel at least once a year to make sure that their major, their career, and their life is still on the right track.

Ymir, of course, has had the pleasure of meeting with Dr. Mikkelsen multiple times already this year, in preparation for her recital. But since that's passed, she hopes that this will be the last time she ever has to see his face outside of symphony rehearsal.

"Grandmother," Ymir exclaims, swanning into his office on Monday morning. "It's me, Anastasia."

Dr. Mikkelsen does not look up. "Sit down."

She still hates him, deep down, but somehow her visible disdain for him has disappeared. He may be an asshole, but he passed her on her recital and even complimented her performance. She knows that she's kept up to his standards over winter break, practicing her ass off alone in the basement while her cousins ran havoc in the house above, and maybe she's even improved since the last time they spoke. Either way, Ymir is here to stay, she proved his ass wrong, and she's going to take as much gleeful satisfaction in that fact as she can.

At least until it's time for her senior recital next year.

Dr. Mikkelsen finally glances up when Ymir plops down into the swivel chair opposite his desk and begins a small back-and-forth arc, the seat squeaking under her movements.

"Well," he says, peering at her over the rim of his glasses, "I can honestly say I did not expect to ever see you here."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, as usual."

"Don't thank me for anything," he says as he sets his pen down. "Your continued presence in the music school is entirely due to your own skill and determination. You should be proud of yourself."

Ymir blinks. God, is this what it's like to be on his good side?

"I am," she says. She stops swiveling and lets the chair swing back into place until she's facing him. "I worked hard on my recital."

"It showed," Dr. Mikkelsen says. He turns to the cabinet behind him and reaches for a folder, thumbing through the first few pages before he turns back to Ymir. "Luckily for you, this semester should be easier."

"I know," she exclaims. "I'm taking, like, no classes."

"You're taking six classes."

"I know, but they're gonna be super easy compared to last semester."

He glances at the paper. "I'm glad to see you've decided to remain in wind quartet."

"Don't your miss your only bassoon in chamber?"

"No," he says swiftly.

Ymir frowns. Well, so much for getting along with him.

"You need small ensemble experience," he explains. "And from what I've heard, you're carrying the other woodwinds in the quartet. It's in your best interest to remain there."

"Yeah," Ymir exclaims. "Stick it to the flutists."

"I think you'll learn something valuable in orchestration," he continues, ignoring her outburst. "Perhaps even enjoy it."

"Not sure about that, but again, I appreciate your confidence in me."

"Unfortunately," he says, swiveling in his chair to face his computer, "woodwind pedagogy has been cancelled this semester, so you'll have to replace it with something else."

"What?" Ymir exclaims. She leans forward in her seat, squinting at his computer screen. "That's a required class."

"If it's cancelled again next year, I'll admit you into another pedagogy class," Dr. Mikkelsen says. He pauses for a moment, clicking, then turns back to Ymir as the printer in the corner of the room stirs. "They're all full for the spring, but I'm printing you a list of music electives to look at. Pick something else before the end of the week."

"Do I have to replace it?" Ymir grumbles. She scoots her chair back and snatches the fresh sheet off the printer tray, scanning the available classes. Symphonic literature, advanced instrumental conducting, counterpoint, keyboard accompanying- gross. "Don't I have enough fucking classes?"

"Ensembles are not full credit courses," Dr. Mikkelsen says. "Technically, you'll still be a full time student without adding another class, but I'd recommend taking advantage of your time in college to study something that interests you."

"Does it have to be a music class though?"

"You are a music student."

"Okay, but consider this: I hate music classes."

Dr. Mikkelsen grimaces at her for a moment before returning to his computer.

"There are plenty of other classes with open seats," he says, reading from the screen. "You should consider a world language, given that you only took two semesters of French as a freshman."

"That's all that was required. I'm not taking another fucking language."

"There are spots left in the next level of French. Hm, there's a new American Sign Language class-"

"I'll take that," Ymir exclaims, jerking upright.

He glances back at her.

"My big is deaf," she says. "I want to talk shit with her in ASL."

"Your what?"

"My big sister," Ymir explains. "In my sorority- oh my god, I'm one of those people now."

Dr. Mikkelsen smacks something on the keyboard. "Then I'll register you for ASL. Monday, Wednesday, Friday, 2:30 to 3:30."

"Holy shit, that's terrible."

He clicks. "You're registered."

Ymir slumps down in her seat with a sigh. "Still sounds better than woodwind pedagogy."

"You're on the right track to graduation otherwise," Dr. Mikkelsen says, turning back around in his chair. "This semester, you need to focus on refining the skills you've already learned in order to prepare for things coming up in the next year: your final recital, auditions for graduate school, and, closer to home, auditions for the summer tour."

"Right," Ymir says, declining to process certain phrases of that sentence, including but not limited to:  _final recital, graduate school_  and  _summer tour._  "So, I'm all good now?"

"We're not finished," he says.

She rolls her eyes.

"Dean McVey is putting something together," Dr. Mikkelsen begins, placing her folder off to the side as he speaks. "The music school turns 125 this year, and the university is printing a special alumni edition of our newsletter is honor of that.

"It'll be a full magazine," he explains, handing a sheet across the desk to Ymir. It's a write-up of the proposed contents, some of which were evidently not to his liking, since most of the page is covered in penciled notes. "I've been asked to write the foreword, and some music students will be interviewed or asked to write about their experiences."

"They're asking me to write?" Ymir blurts out, glancing up at him.

"I advised against that."

Could he chill for five minutes?

"Instead," he continues, "the dean has selected you to participate in the photoshoot for the cover."

"Me?" Ymir exclaims, throwing a hand over her heart. "Little ole me?"

"I believe that's what I just said."

"I never thought this day would come, having a school-issued magazine cover all to myself-"

"The dean has also asked Zeke Yeager and Reiner Braun."

"Of course he did," she mutters. "So I have to share my already limited cover space?"

"They might only choose one of you," Dr. Mikkelsen says. "Or none of you. Frankly, you're some of the least photogenic students in the music school-"

"I'm telling Reiner you think he's ugly."

"He could not possibly take more offense to that than he does to everything else I say."

Wow, Mikkelsen is on fire today.

"But Zeke is the concertmaster," he continues, "Reiner's our best cellist, despite his ardent belief otherwise, and you-"

He glances up at her. "You're our only bassoon."

"Terrific," Ymir exclaims. "Can I also tell Hoover that you think he's a second-rate cellist?"

"He knows how I feel."

"Christ," Ymir mutters, tossing the piece of paper back onto his desk. "Okay, what am I supposed to do about this?"

"The magazine's being printed for the official anniversary in April, so the photoshoot is still a few weeks away. For now, just try not to get yourself kicked out of school again."

She knows what he means, but he makes it sound like she actually got kicked out. For the record, she did not. She came pretty fucking close, like, closer than she has ever wanted to be, but she's still here, still kicking, and is apparently actually kind of killing it in the music school game now. Ymir, the bassoonist, on the cover of the prestigious newsletter? Her freshman self would die.

Orchestration turns out to be the worst class Ymir has ever taken, and she has ASL immediately afterwards, which is only marginally better when she shows up 15 minutes late to a 45 minute class, because she's never been to this side of campus in her life and she has to beg a sociology TA for directions. Then she has to run back to Saber Hall for the semester's first symphony rehearsal, which is mostly spent listening to Dr. Mikkelsen remind everyone how terrible they are (his disappointment is reassuring, in a way), and then finally, the first day of class is over, and she can collapse into a booth at Mamma Mia's Pizzeria, the closest restaurant that they can make it to before Ymir dies of hanger.

"Thank god," she breathes when their oversized margherita slices finally arrive at the table. "I haven't eaten all day."

"What have you been doing?" Reiner exclaims, reaching for the red pepper flakes. "I thought your class schedule wasn't so bad this semester."

"It's not," she exclaims through a mouthful of cheese. She chews for a moment, then shrugs. "I mean, my classes aren't hard, but they're all, like, right after each other, so I don't have any time in between. No more break naps, I guess."

"At least your mornings are free," Reiner sighs. "String pedagogy is at 9:00 am."

"I have Friday classes though," Ymir grumbles. She takes another huge bite. "God, I'm gonna need, like, three more slices after this."

She pauses, sitting upright, and glances around. "Wait."

Reiner glances at her. "What?"

"Did we lose Bertholdt?" she asks. "Wasn't he coming with us?"

"I don't think we invited him," Reiner says, furrowing his brow.

She stares at him. "Why would we not invite him?"

Reiner stares back. "Why would we?"

Ymir has a very sudden, half-second heart attack in the silence that follows.

"Oh my God," Reiner exclaims. The slice of pizza goes limp in his hands. "Did I not tell you?"

"No," Ymir hisses, eyes wide, letting her pizza flop back onto its plate. "What the fuck is going on? What did you do?"

He sets his pizza down. "Don't freak out."

"Reiner."

"Ymir-"

"Don't do this to me."

"Nothing happened-"

"I'm literally going to murder you."

"It's not a big deal-"

"Don't say it, you piece of shit, don't fucking say it-"

"Bertholdt and I are taking a break," Reiner says.

He barely finishes the sentence before Ymir is wailing, slamming her fists against the countertop as she wails.

"God damn it, Reiner!" she exclaims, glaring at him. She smacks a hand down onto the table with another bellow. "Everything was going so well!"

The restaurant, known for its regular population of distraught college students, remains entirely unfazed to her outburst.

"Are you-..." Reiner squints at her. "Was that an intentional  _Moulin Rouge_  quote?"

"How can you be so calm about this?" Ymir exclaims, leaning forward as she hisses at him. "Haven't you seen  _Friends_? Don't you know what happens when couples take a break?"

"You know I've never seen anything," Reiner exclaims. "And, look, it's not like we've broken up or anything."

"Oh, my god."

"There was a lot going on between us, and we just-"

"I can't believe this. I can't believe you!"

"We've both changed, Ymir," Reiner says. "A lot's happened over the last year, so we took your advice and we talked about it, and we decided that we should spend some time apart."

"That's insane," Ymir exclaims. "You guys live together. You're stand partners. You have all the same classes."

"We can't change that, but it's not like we're trying to completely disappear from each others' lives. We're just being mindful about how we spend our time otherwise."

"So, what?" Ymir asks, throwing out her hands. "One of you sleeps on the couch and you eat separate meals and you don't hang out anymore?"

"...well, yeah-"

Ymir clenches her teeth, her lips pursing together in a firm line. "This is fucking stupid."

"We're taking responsibility for our problems, like you suggested."

"Don't drag me into this!"

"It was your advice!"

"I don't remember advising this!"

"Ymir," Reiner says, "we're just trying to be adults."

Ymir glares at him. "Real adults would just break up, Reiner."

She hates that as soon as she says it. But she's fucking right, isn't she? How has Reiner never seen  _Friends_?

It doesn't seem to bother him, or at least not enough to let it show. He just shrugs and reaches for his glass of water.

"Maybe so," he says. "But I think this will be good for us. We've never not been together, even when we were just friends, and back then, we could stand to actually be honest with each other about our feelings. I think we need to get back to that place to figure out if this is going to work.

"Plus," he says, "we're not spending literally every waking hour together anymore, and that has to be healthy. I don't want to hit him every time he makes that noise when he takes a drink."

He frowns. "I actually kind of miss that noise."

Ymir takes a deep breath, inhaling a scream with her mouth closed; then she lets it out all at once, her nostrils flaring. "I'm not okay with this."

"Luckily, it's not your relationship."

"I'm just saying," Ymir says, "because I want you to know how much this is hurting me right now."

"I'm sorry that we didn't take your special feelings into consideration when evaluating the future of our personal and romantic relationship."

"Also," Ymir exclaims, glaring across the table at him, "because I'm a good friend and shit, is this, like, okay for you? Last semester you spent a week in the wildest depressive spiral I've ever seen after you guys had one fight."

"We're not fighting," Reiner insists. "This is something we agreed on. And Bert's still here, you know, we have classes together. It's not like we're not talking at all."

He bats his eyelashes at her. "And I still have you, don't I?"

She considers throwing the pizza at him.

If this so-called break lasts more than a week, Ymir will be both surprised and dead: surprised, because Reiner and Bertholdt have been inseparable for most of their lives; dead, because there will be nothing left to live for.

Okay, that's a bit dramatic. But she wasn't kidding when she told Sasha that Reiner and Bertholdt's relationship was the cornerstone of her life. They have been the only constants through her college career: her first friends, sometimes her only friends. She knew them before they started dating, but she's not sure things could ever be the same if they decided to go back to that. She knew things were still rough between them when she left for winter break. She just didn't think they were standing on such thin ice.

That was a mistake.

Not the last mistake she made before leaving for Christmas. She had grudgingly promised Sasha that they'd start going to the gym together when the new semester came around.

"I need someone to hold me accountable," Sasha had said. "I'll never do it otherwise."

"Yeah, sure," Ymir had said, rolling her eyes.

She doesn't know what the hell she was thinking, other than that Sasha wouldn't hold her to this- but oh! wait! She forgot that Sasha used to be a girl scout and varsity athlete. So, yeah, she is going to force Ymir to do this.

Ymir's classes may all be right on top of each other, but she does have most mornings free, which was an absolute blessing until Sasha sent her a Google Calendar invite for EXERCISE!!!! beginning at 9 a.m. She was looking forward to lazy mornings and slow cups of coffee. Instead, she gets forced into leggings and dragged to the gym.

"It's not even that early," Sasha says as they swipe into the rec center. She's extremely perky today, with her hair high up in a ponytail that swings with her steps (bangs out of the way to show off her new hearing aids, which is a weird thing to do for flesh-toned devices that are designed to be inconspicuous, but whatever).

Ymir trudges behind her, rubbing her eyes. The first week of the semester is usually when she gets to lay in bed and binge all the shows she missed last semester. Maybe she can watch Netflix while she jogs, or whatever Sasha makes her do.

"It's early enough," Ymir mutters. "I don't even have class until 11:30, and I'm already out of the house by 9? Not okay."

"You would have gotten up earlier if I'd promised you coffee."

"Are you promising me coffee now?"

"No," Sasha says. She leads Ymir down the hall towards the aerobics room (at least they're not stopping in the weight room; Ymir would actually die in there), glancing back at her with a smirk. "Hey, show me the sign for  _early_!"

"I've literally only been to two ASL classes," Ymir exclaims. She pops the cap of her water bottle and takes a gulp. "We've barely finished the alphabet."

"Some people are just not good with their hands," Sasha sighs. "Maybe I should be a guest speaker in your class. Show those imbeciles how it's done."

"You would hate them, even more than I do."

"Oh, come on, they can't be bad."

"Everyone but me is there because they need to a language credit and they thought ASL would be easy."

Sasha grimaces as she beelines for the machines. "Ugh, god, never mind."

Ymir plods beside her on the elliptical for a grand total of three minutes before her thighs can't take it anymore, and she stumbles backwards off the steps, lunging for her water bottle.

"Really?" Sasha exclaims, still going full speed. "You weren't even trying!"

"Well, excuse me for not being an Olympic athlete. I haven't worked out since I was in high school!"

"What about floor hockey?"

"Fine, I haven't worked out still floor hockey. That's still a long time!"

"Maybe cardio's just not your thing," Sasha says through swift breaths as Ymir leans on her machine, chugging water. "If you can find something that you actually enjoy, then you won't mind the exercise so much."

"Sure," Ymir mutters.

Ymir forgets, of course, that she'd stuffed her phone into Sasha's backpack, which Sasha had stuffed into a locker, which Sasha had then locked with a key that she'd stuffed into her sports bra. So, basically she's trapped at the gym until Sasha decides to leave. She wanders out of the cardio room and down the hall, searching for a lounge, or at least, like, a single chair. Gym rats need to sit, too.

She doesn't find a lounge. She does, however, stumble into a yoga class.

"We're just about to start," the instructor exclaims when she catches Ymir lurking in the doorway. "Come on in!"

"Oh, uh," Ymir says, glancing around, because this is absolutely not what she was looking for. She'd just randomly opened this unmarked door, hoping it was not somebody's office, and she's definitely not going to be any better at yoga than she was at the elliptical.

But the turnout for this yoga class is kind of sad, actually, and Ymir has nothing else to do until Sasha comes to rescue her, so she lets the door fall shut behind her and shuffles towards the first empty mat she sees. She sits all the way in the back of the classroom, positioning herself as far away from the teacher as possible, just in case she can't touch her fucking toes or something (she definitely cannot touch her toes). Although, sitting in the back won't make much of a difference; there's just three other attendees besides herself.

"Great," the instructor says, smiling as she lets out a breath. "Welcome, everyone, to the first class of the semester, and welcome back to my regulars. We'll begin with some basic stretches..."

The first week of the spring semester disappears just like that: Ymir goes to class, to rehearsal, back to yoga class (surprisingly, although it's only because Sasha hasn't yet given up on dragging her to the gym), and so on. It goes by so easily. It's weird, actually, feeling so normal after everything. Well, not everything is back to normal- Reiner and Bertholdt can go fuck themselves and their "break." But as for everything else in her life? Back to the way it was, before last semester, even longer than that actually, and probably better than ever before. She's always been a fuck-up in at least one aspect of her life, whether that be social, romantic, or academic, but now... she's doing good. She's happy, she's well-adjusted, and, most surprising of all, she actually has free time.

It's a weird feeling to have, although not everyone's interested in that complaint.  

The first Saturday of the semester begins with informal brunch at the Beta house, and it ends much the same, the sisterhood lounging together in the common room that evening as they craft decorations for their upcoming philanthropy fundraiser. Someone's going to have to vacuum; the floor is littered with tiny paper sparkles, the remnant of a failed attempt to fill balloons with glitter. Ymir has been recruited to help paint the banner, filling in Sasha's delicate line work with whatever cheap acrylics they found in the storage closet.

"This is kind of nice," Ymir muses, sprawled on the floor as she paints. She glances up at Sasha, who sits opposite her, filling in details upside down. "It feels like I'm doing a Color by Numbers. Except the numbers are you yelling at me."

"I spent six hours drawing this banner," Sasha mutters. "You're not going to mess it up just because you don't know how to listen."

"Can we at least get one other person to help us? Look, Annie's not even doing anything."

"Two people is too many to manage," Sasha exclaims, raising a hand to shush Ymir. She's holding a tiny paintbrush that moves in itsy-bitsy strokes on the five-foot piece of fabric. Ymir pauses for a moment to watch her delicate process, then sighs. Sasha has turned out to be that kind of artist.

Annie sits off to the side, fiddling with their paint jars. "I'm doing something."

"You're literally not," Ymir exclaims, glancing up at her. "You're just sitting there!"

"Some of us don't have as much leisure time as you, Ymir. I have to relax when I can."

"Oh, come on."

"I know you're so happy, being bored with all your easy classes and light schedule, but some of us-"

"All I said," Ymir interjects, sitting upright to threaten her paintbrush in Annie's direction, "is that I don't know what to do with my free time. I didn't say I was bored."

Sasha shrugs. "Eh."

Ymir turns to her. "What?"

"You definitely sounded like you were complaining," she says. She sets her tiny paintbrush aside and wipes her hands on her tee-shirt (just fucking goes for it, no hesitation, so Sasha is also that kind of artist). "Some of us, meanwhile, have our junior portfolio review and senior project proposal this semester-"

"I feel like I've earned the right to complain," Ymir grumbles in a huff. She bends down again to start painting again. "Does no one remember how last semester went for me?"

"We remember," Annie mutters, pulling out her phone. "You never shut up about it."

"I'm just saying," Ymir continues, squinting as she shuffles down close to the banner, filling in the color on a tree, "music students never have free time, so I don't know how to handle it. And last semester, even when it sucked, at least there was drama. I kind of miss it."

Annie snorts, not even looking up from her phone.

"I'm serious," Ymir exclaims, glaring up at her. "At least things were happening then! Now, it's just, like, I go to class, I go to rehearsal, and that's it. I mean, I've actually been going to yoga, just for something to do."

"You've been doing  _what_?" Annie asks.

"I know," Ymir says. "That's what I thought."

Sasha picks up a different paintbrush and sits back on her heels to evaluate their painting progress. "It's only the first week, Ymir. There's plenty of time for drama to develop."

"Case in point," Annie asks, glancing up from her phone, "what's going on with Reiner and Bertholdt?"

Ymir huffs. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"They've started talking to each other like they're coworkers.  _Bertholdt, would you pass the rosin, please? Of course, Reiner, and don't forget, we have chamber recital scheduled for two o'clock tomorrow._ "

"That was a really good impression of them," Sasha says.

Annie glares at her. "Your new hearing aids are not that good."

"But you were doing an insulting voice, right?" Sasha asks. She glances to Ymir. "Ymir, was she doing an insulting voice?"

"It was, like, a high pitched squeal, so, I mean, it was a pretty spot on impression of Reiner, yeah."

"Any voice I do is an insulting voice," Annie mutters, apparently offended by the notion that she would have done a favorable impression of Reiner and Bertholdt.

"They're just taking a break," Ymir mumbles, concentrating intently on the banner. "Everything'll be fine soon."

"So, they're breaking up."

"No one said that!" Ymir exclaims.

"But that's what that means."

"No," Ymir insists. "Everything's going to be fine."

Sasha clears her throat suddenly, turning back to the banner. "Speaking of couples..."

Ymir glances up. "What?"

Mikasa appears at the end of their banner, towering over them in a pair of the most intimidating combat boots Ymir has ever seen. Girl can work.

She nods at Annie. "Ready?"

Without another word, Annie stuffs her phone away, leaps out of her chair and shuffles around the banner (whacking Ymir with her bag in the process), and then disappears with Mikasa out the back door.

"What the hell?" Ymir exclaims, rubbing the sore spot on her head. "They don't hate each other anymore?"

Sasha wrinkles her nose. "What? They've never hated each other."

"They did when they ran against each other for president! And you told me all that stuff about them both liking Eren, or whatever. God knows what anyone sees in him."

"What?" Sasha repeats, staring at Ymir. "Did you talk to anyone at all over the break?"

"You know I didn't."

"They're dating now," Sasha says, leaning across the banner to reach for a jar of paint. "Past transgressions totally forgiven."

Ymir stares at her. "...who's dating?"

"Annie and Mikasa," Sasha says simply, like that's something Ymir was supposed to expect.

"What?!" she exclaims. She glances around the common room. "Did everyone know this except me?!"

From across the room, she hears Hedy mutter, "Yeah."

"Can you graduate already?" Ymir yells.

"Love you, Ymir, you sick bastard! You're not rid of me yet!"

"I mean," Sasha says, shrugging. "They've totally already slept together. Didn't we agree on that a while ago?"

"I meant that in, like, a hate sex kind of way," Ymir hisses. "I didn't think they were gonna date each other's faces!"

"Well..."

Ymir falls onto the ground in a crumpled fetal position, paintbrush limp in her hand. She stares at the ceiling, then sighs, "And to think, after all this time, that sorority girls can actually date each other."

Sasha stares at her, lips pursed. "God, you need a hobby."

Sasha is not wrong on that front. Having free time is kind of fun, at first, when Ymir realizes that she can go to the gym in the mornings and still have time for Netflix binges. But it become less fun in the next two weeks when she finds herself spending hours each day lounging in a different place on campus: the coffee shop, the Beta house, the lobby of Saber. Having free time would be great if her friends weren't still busy. It would be great if her classes would actually as hard as they usually are; but it turns out that everyone in her ASL class is a dumbass, so she's weeks ahead on the lessons, and while orchestration is boring as hell, the professor is too lazy to actually give homework.

There are things coming up on the horizon: symphony orchestra goes on tour over spring break, and she'll have to start auditioning for summer opportunities after that, and she knows Dr. Mikkelsen will want some kind of career plan proposal before the end of the semester. But those things are still weeks away, months even. In the meantime... Ymir really needs a hobby.

She keeps going back to yoga as long as Sasha keeps kidnapping her to the gym, and although she still has no idea what's ever going on in that class, she's proud to say that she can touch her toes now. A skill most fifth-graders have. So, Ymir's definitely moving up in the world.

Ymir stumbles into yoga on a Friday morning at the end of January, gives her customary nod to the beaming instructor, who, by now, must consider Ymir one of her closest friends, since she and some hippie vegan girl are the only ones who consistently come to a class. That's certainly a first for Ymir (and in an elective class too! God, she's a great student). She plops down onto her usual mat in the back of the room and begins pinching out the scrunches in her leggings.

It takes her a moment to realize that there is, in fact, someone occupying the mat next to her for the first time, and then it takes her approximately a split second to realize that it's-

The girl beside her lifts her forehead from the floor, short blonde hair brushing over her neck and shoulders, and sits fully upright, stretching her arms around her shoulders for a second before she glances sideways and catches Ymir staring at her.

"Oh, hi," Historia says, blinking, as she drops her arms into her lap. "I didn't expect to see you here."

That is an astonishingly friendly greeting, given the last conversation they had. But Ymir doesn't question it. Instead, her mouth goes dry as she tries to quell her frantic heartbeat. She says nothing at first, just gives a terrified grunt, then turns to yank off her shoes and silently swear at herself. This is possibly the worst thing that could happen to her right now, and although she's made her peace with Historia, she doesn't know if that peace extends the other way. Oh god, what if Historia's really good at yoga and makes Ymir look like a fool?

"Uh, yeah," Ymir exclaims after a moment, tossing her shoes aside. "I'm really into yoga now."

Historia shifts her position to a different stretch, pulling one leg out and leaning over to grasp her toes. "Really?"

"No," Ymir chokes. "Are you?"

"I come every now and then," Historia says. "I've never been consistent enough to make it past the beginner's class, though."

Ymir stares at her. "Ha. Yeah."

She takes a few stiff moments of silence to consider why she's being treated so nicely when the yoga teacher begins the first exercise.

  1. Historia has forgotten who she actually is.
  2. Historia has moved on and doesn't give a shit about Ymir anymore.
  3. Historia has actually, genuinely taken the time to consider and accept Ymir's apology, and she's decided that they can be friends again.



It's probably the second one. Ymir kind of hopes it's the first one.

The instructor leads the small class through what should be a half-hour of peaceful, refreshing exercises. Historia's poses are wobbly in some places, and her hair keeps falling into her face; but she's still more practiced than Ymir, who spends most of the class remembering how to breathe.

They've just clambered upside down into downward dog, Ymir praying for the end of time, when Historia suddenly turns and whispers to her.

"Listen, Ymir," she says, lifting her head upright to look at Ymir.

Ymir jerks her head up. "Uh, yeah?"

Historia pauses to raise a hand and push her hair out of her face. "I know a lot of shit happened last semester," she says, glancing at Ymir, "but as far as I'm concerned, it's all in the past now. I'm willing to move on if you are."

Ymir stares at her, barely breathing. "...uh-huh."

"We both said some stuff," Historia continues, whispering. "You apologized, and that's more than I could ask for. I'm not holding anything against you."

"We're talking about the same thing, right?" Ymir whispers back, her brow furrowed. "I mean, we're talking about Halloween, right?"

Historia raises an eyebrow. "What else would we be talking about?"

"I don't know," Ymir says. "It's just that, like, that was the worst night of my life, and you're being pretty fucking chill about it."

"It wasn't the worst night of my life, by far, so on the scale of people who have fucked me over, you're still pretty low."

The instructor asks them to do something ridiculous, like raise a leg all the way to the ceiling or stretch their arms until they can touch the fucking sun- whatever, Ymir's not paying attention anymore and she can't do the pose anyways. She drops down onto her knees, hands in her lap, and glances sideways at Historia.

"So," she says slowly. "We're cool."

Historia moves up onto her feet, palms still pressed firmly into the mat, and looks at Ymir as well as she can while she's bent in half.

"We're cool," she says softly. "I don't want to let hard feelings linger without any real reason."

Ymir lets out a huge breath. "Well, glad we resolved that."

She feels a faint burning sensation in her chest. She thinks it's probably just her body struggling to survive after one moderately difficult exercise session, or maybe the enormous burrito she scarfed down in the dining hall last night.

Then Historia sits back and smiles at her, and Ymir's heart clenches in her chest.

Oh, no.

She bolts from the gym as soon as the class is over.  She can't let herself fall for Historia again, especially not after everything that's happened. She should just be happy to be on Historia's good side again. Anyways, they were just doing yoga together, so it's not like anything actually happened, except that Historia smiled at her in that perfect way that she does, and she must have cut her hair over winter break because it looks so good, like the perfect blonde bob floating effortlessly over her shoulders, and so how could anyone not fall in love with her-


	16. learn to love again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously on soul sisters: historia continued to be a good person. this week: ymir dresses up like the grinch and reiner reveals a long-held secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: this chapter contains discussions of mental illness, suicidal thoughts/desires, and a past suicide attempt. the discussion is not graphic. specific details are in the end notes.

Philanthropy events, it turns out, are the crux of campus Greek life.

Ymir had never been to one before she'd joined Beta (why would she? to support a charitable cause? alright, that would have been a good reason), but there'd been a rush of them just before the end of the fall semester. Fraternities and sororities pushed relentlessly for passersby to buy tickets to events that seemed to get increasingly wild with each offer: volleyball tournaments for cancer research, casino nights for service dog training, zombie runs for the local 4H chapter. The Betas were asked (read: mandated, unless exempt because of class or death) to attend every single philanthropy event put on, so Ymir sat through some truly weird experiences that were ultimately for a good cause (she supposes- she's not sure that the untalented Battle of the Bands she had to endure didn't cause more harm than good), so she thinks, by now, that she has a good grip on what makes a successful philanthropy event. Let people have fun, take their money, and shut everything down before the campus drunks show up and ruin the party.

Maybe Ymir is biased, but she's pretty sure Beta's philanthropy event is going to blow everything else out of the water, because she can't think of anything more fun than forcing fraternity guys to spell  _onomatopoeia_  in front of all their friends while robbing them each of $5 to fund reading tutors for ESL students at the local middle school. And that's exactly what Beta is doing.

"Come to our spell-a-thon!" Sasha shouts, waving flyers at the reluctant students who happen to be walking by their table. "You can laugh at your friends misspelling  _lieutenant_  and it's all for a good cause!"

"Are we not allowed to call it a spelling bee?" Ymir asks, slumped back in her chair.

They're tabling- the time honored tradition of sitting outside the student union, assaulting people with information about their events, and rolling in the loads of cash that fraternity presidents drop off in exchange for full chapter tickets. It's too fucking cold for tabling, in Ymir's hoe opinion, but Mikasa (sorry, Madame President Mikasa) had insisted they advertise as much as possible, since they've delayed their event from last semester. Sasha certainly isn't complaining. She seems to revel in being the center of attention, but especially in shouting as loud as she can and watching in glee as other people wince.

"Oh, I don't know," Sasha exclaims, pushing her hair out of her face. She crosses back to the other side of the table and drops into the chair next to Ymir with a sigh. "I just thought that people might be put off by the idea of a spelling bee."

"That's what it is, though."

"I know, but I actually want people to attend."

"Well," Ymir says, pulling her coat tighter around herself, "I'm not sure a spell-a-thon sounds like more fun."

"I don't remember asking for your opinion," Sasha grumbles.

Ymir stares at her. "What's wrong with you?"

Sasha sighs, dropping her elbows onto the table. "Sorry. Jean's been texting me."

"Flutist Jean?" Ymir exclaims. "Fuckboy Jean?"

"He's not a fuckboy."

"He is absolutely- Sasha, I don't know anyone who's more of a fuckboy."

"Eren is."

"No, I don't know about that. Eren's a piece of shit, but he's not up to anything. He's just stupid. Jean, on the other hand? One hundred percent, a scheming fuckboy."

Sasha furrows her brow. "What has he ever done to you?"

Ymir grimaces. "What hasn't he done to me? Do you know how many times I've had to watch him give head to his flute?"

"Okay, I get it."

"I have symphony with him three times a week, Sasha. I bet he can deep throat that thing by now."

"Okay," Sasha exclaims, eyes wide. "I get it."

A couple of freshmen huddle past the table and Sasha flings flyers at them.

Ymir pulls her legs up into her chair and shivers as a wind rushes across the lawn. This is stupid. Can't they just move their table inside?

"What does Jean want from you?" she asks, crossing her arms to further bury herself inside her fleece jacket.

Sasha shrugs. "I don't know. He's just asking how I'm doing."

"Ugh."

Sasha reaches for her coffee, then takes a moment to rearrange the items sitting on their table- the flyers held down by truffula tree figurines, because, by the way, it's also a Dr. Seuss themed spelling bee- before sitting back in her chair and pulling her scarf closer around her neck.

"I think he's going to ask me out," she says.

"Don't go out with him."

"You don't even know him, Ymir."

"I know enough. You need to move on."

"How's yoga?" Sasha exclaims, giving her a pointed look.

Ymir glares at her. "That is not the same situation at all."

It's been a full week since she abruptly plopped down next to Historia in yoga class (a whole fucking week? hey, time? can you slow down?), and she hasn't run into Historia since. Ymir's just praying that she didn't completely put her off. She didn't get that impression from their conversation, and Historia did say that she wasn't a regular, but still, it was incredibly weird, and if Ymir was Historia, she might consider dropping that class altogether. Hopefully, Historia is not anything like her.

Sasha takes a sip of her coffee. "At least now I know why you're still going to yoga."

"I don't mind it," Ymir exclaims, her voice muffled as she sinks beneath her scarf. "I mean, Historia is an added bonus, as long as she doesn't hate me anymore, but I was going before I knew she was there."

"Yeah, but how long would that have lasted?"

"...dunno."

"I thought so."

A telltale clunk-clunk sounds behind them on the steps of the student union, and Ymir twists around in her seat to see Annie and Mikasa coming towards them, each wearing the same pair of black combat boots which, apparently, is their couple thing. Ymir is still a little offended that they started dating and did not think to tell HER, the token lesbian, but she'll forgive them because they actually argue more now that they're together, and it's all good, clean entertainment. Although, at the moment, it kind of sounds like they're planning a coup.

"We set ourselves up for failure last year because our team wasn't well-rounded," Mikasa is saying when she reaches the table. She puts herself right between Ymir and Sasha's chairs, gripping her to-go tea in her bare hands (more proof that she's not human- it's cold). "We need to rebuild from scratch this time."

Annie trudges up behind them and pitches herself on the brick half-wall their table juts against, sitting with her legs contorted beneath her.

"As I recall," she hisses at Mikasa, "the chapter president is not allowed to captain the team."

Mikasa narrows her eyes. "No, that's the responsibility of the intramural chair, who is not a chapter officer and thus might need assistance navigating the complexities of the panhellenic guidelines."

"Take your presidential hands," Annie growls, "and get them out of my team, because I'm the captain now."

Ymir glances between them. "Was that an intentional  _Captain Phillips_  quote?"

Sasha sets her coffee down and thumbs through a stack of flyers, counting. "Are you guys still arguing about this?"

Mikasa takes a sip of her tea. "It's important."

"It's not relevant for three months."

Ymir leans over to Sasha and mutters from the corner of her mouth. "Sorry, what are they arguing about now?"

Sasha rolls her eyes. "They're planning for the Greek Games. But if they keep going on about this, I'm taking these damn hearing aids out."

Ah, the Greek Games.

Forget philanthropy events. The Games are the true crux of campus Greek life.

Ymir has been privy to the organized chaos of the Greek Games before. They descend on the university for an entire weekend near the end of the spring semester, and the madness is literally impossible to escape, because the competitive events take place all over campus and at every possible hour of the day. Fraternities and sororities spend three days battling for a trophy that proves they're really good at kickball or whatever. Ymir has never really understood the point of the competition, because... that's it, that's the entire prize. But it's a huge deal. Gamma won last year, and she didn't see Reiner for a week afterwards. Bertholdt made her canvas jails and hospitals with him just in case he'd partied too hard and ended up there. He had partied too hard, but he'd ended up at the gym instead of in jail, so, that says a lot about Reiner. 

She's still not quite sure what the point of the Games is, but now she understands the spirit of the competition. She wants Beta to kick everyone else's asses. She wants Beta to set the rest of the school on fire. And if that means she has to get overdramatically aggressive in an otherwise meaningless game of tetherball to help her team win, then so help her god, she'll do it.

"Panhellenic is still looking for volunteers to help organize the whole thing," Sasha says to Ymir as the lovers' tiff carries on behind them. "Just in case you know anyone who's looking for something to do."

"Sasha, you know I don't know people."

"I meant, you," Sasha says. She balls up a flyer and throws it squarely at a passing art student, who catches it and promptly gives her the finger. They must be friends. "I mean, I kind of thought about helping out, but I'd rather compete."

"Well, I'm not really a volunteer kind of person," Ymir says as she feels herself sinking into her seat. "So, that's probably a no from me."

"Just an idea. Honestly, that might be for the best, since I hear it's always kind of a mess anyways."

Ymir glances at her. Tea?

"People are always dropping out," Sasha continues. "So they're always changing coordinators and communication's just a disaster. And then, you know, you've got Panehellenic working with the fraternity council working with the Greek life office, and then Student Affairs has to put their hands all over it, because sports are a liability or whatever, and the administration always throws a tantrum-"

She cuts herself off. "Anyways, I'm just saying, if you know anyone who's interested, you should use your new yoga connections and send them Historia's way."

Ymir jerks upright in her chair. "What?"

Mikasa leans between them and snatches a stack of informational flyers off the table, abruptly cutting off her argument with Annie. "She's the new president of the Panhellenic Council."

_"What?"_

"Our new overlord," Sasha exclaims, raising her hands to the sky.

"I think she'll do fine," Mikasa says as she thumbs through the flyers.

"Yeah, she seems like she'll be good at it," Sasha adds. "She had a meet and greet yesterday in the Panhellenic office to introduce the new board. There were donuts."

_"What??"_

"I could have brought you one. Didn't you get my email?"

"No," Ymir exclaims, partially because Sasha sends way too many emails and Ymir has her on a filter. But mostly because this is all news to her. "I didn't know any of that."

"She was going to run for president of Zeta Chi," Mikasa says. She taps all the flyers into place and drops down to tuck them into her backpack. "But she wasn't going to win against Hitch."

"Well, yeah," Annie mutters from the side, as if this is obvious to everyone else. "Hitch is annoying, but she's really stepped up Zeta's reputation on campus."

Sasha nudges Ymir. "You should have heard the stories about Zeta Chi before Hitch was president. That shit was crazy."

Mikasa zips up her backpack. "No one would have won against Hitch. So, Historia set her sights on something better."

That might explain Historia's nonchalant attitude in yoga class. Maybe this is part of something bigger, a chance for her to move past last semester's nonsense and onto a bright future. She's back in Ymir's life, too, someone to wave to across the quad. The tension between them is gone, and there's friendliness, even. Ymir begins to think. To wonder. To hope.

But she's learned her lesson. She knows a good thing when she sees it, and her resolution with Historia is definitely something that she doesn't want to ruin by taking a chance on. She had her chance, and she completely blew it. If Historia wanted anything else- well, that would be on her. Ymir's not risking anything again. So she tries to turn her mind elsewhere.

The philanthropy event is in just two days, and there's still a lot to be done in preparation: finalizing the contestants, organizing the donation of ticket sales, protecting Sasha's very carefully painted banner that hangs outside the student union all week. Ymir helps as much as she can, trying to keep herself busy; that usually means counting the money in the ticket box after each day's sales are up, and then sitting silently in shame as Mikasa recounts the money just to make sure.

When she's not mishandling money, she's trying to focus on the bassoon. She's passed the hurdle. She thinks. Last semester, with everything that happened with her recital, it felt like a huge triumph when she finally succeeded, and she thinks she's on the other side now, past all the learning and failing and trying again. Dr. Mikkelsen said that she needs to focus on refining her skills this semester, which means that she's made it, finally, or at least she thinks so. It's just a matter of keeping up with all that progress. She still hates practicing, but now that there's not a huge potential failure hanging over her head, it's slightly less stressful. The practice rooms in Saber are where she finds herself most mornings after yoga, sometimes accompanied by Reiner, who continues to do nothing but complain about symphony. Ymir's not sure if that's a good or bad sign about his relationship status. She might actually feel relieved if he was complaining about Bertholdt.

Bertholdt, who has apparently been coerced into taking Reiner's place in the alumni magazine photoshoot, since Reiner turned down the offer. Ymir cannot imagine why (for example, she'll look fucking stunning on the cover of magazine, and she knows it), but then again, she's not Reiner, meaning that she doesn't go to the gym like it's a part-time job, so she supposes that's an answer in itself. Bertholdt is, at least, slightly less self-conscious about his appearance, hopefully meaning that he won't spend the entire photoshoot bitching.

"So, it's you and me and Zeke, huh," Ymir said when she cornered him after symphony rehearsal one Tuesday night, determined to drag him out with her and Reiner. They were determined to thwart all of her plans, it seems, and so far, she's barely seen them together since they got back from winter break.

Bertholdt glanced at her. "I'm not as thrilled about this as you are. Although I think Zeke definitely has you beat on complete and total smugness."

"Zeke is the worst person I know," Ymir exclaimed. "Don't worry- I'm gonna look so much better than him."

"You know it's not Vogue, right? It's a school magazine."

Ymir smacked his sheet music off his stand before she sauntered off. "Shut up."

"Good comeback," he muttered.

"Ymir," Reiner called weakly. "That's my sheet music too!"

So, she's managing to keep herself occupied until she gets to glam up for the photoshoot, until the symphony orchestra goes on tour over spring break, until she has to audition and rehearse and pass this semester's classes. She's occupied for now, but then Beta's philanthropy event comes, and she knows that, as soon as that's over, she's going to be bored again.

At least the spelling bee will be entertaining.

The philanthropy committee really went all out with the decorations, huh, because the doorway to the auditorium is framed with arching cutouts of truffula trees, the floor lined with green fluff (oobleck? eggs? Ymir's not sure what that's supposed to be, but she definitely almost slips and cracks her skull). The inside is just as fanciful, and the Beta sisters are milling about, putting the finishing touches on the room before the event begins. Most of them are wearing Thing 1 or 2 shirts, though some, like Ymir, have been designated certain character costumes. She did not request to be the Grinch, but apparently that's what everyone thinks of her, because Mikasa might as well have glued the Santa hat on her head. At least she didn't have to paint her face green.

"I think people would get my costume more if I had a dog to play Max," Ymir says when she's settled in her role for the evening. She and Annie have the enormously fun job of manning the ticket booth.

Mikasa stands over their table, fidgeting with the money box. "You're not stealing someone's dog."

"Why couldn't Annie be the Grinch?" Ymir exclaims, gesturing in her direction. "She's even grumpier than I am."

"I'm a traditional Grinch," Annie says without looking up from her phone. "You're more lively, like-"

"Don't say it."

"-the Jim Carey Grinch."

Ymir slumps back in her seat, arms crossed. "I hate this."

"That's the spirit," Mikasa says as she leaves to open the doors.

The spelling bee, as Ymir understands it, works like this: the fraternities and sororities have each nominated a member to compete for them, and they'll face off in increasingly difficult rounds of spelling until someone finally wins. The prize (besides the complete and utter honor of being able to spell  _entrepreneur_  correctly) is a hundred dollars to their organization's own philanthropic cause. That's how these things work, usually, to give an incentive for actual participation, because otherwise the frat guys would all show up and fall asleep in the back of the audience.

People begin to pour in when the doors open, entire Greek chapters filing in together to take their seats. A few people come to the table to buy tickets, but otherwise, Annie and Ymir sit on the sidelines, glaring at everyone as they wait for the event to begin. Historia must be somewhere in the crowd, Ymir thinks, but the for the first time, she's not going to look. She's determined not to be weird, or at least not to let Historia know how weird she is. There's not much she can actually do about how weird she is inside.

She does spot someone familiar in the crowd, and she squints hard, staring at them.

"Is that flutist Jean?" Annie asks from beside her.

Ymir furrows her brow. "That's what it looks like, huh?"

"What is he doing here? I thought he'd be too busy making out with his flute to come to one of these."

"Good, so I'm not the only one who thinks that," Ymir exclaims. She sits upright in her seat. "Hey, Spitstein!"

He whirls around, his face flushing red, then stalks over to the table when he spots her smirking at him.

"Don't call me that," Jean hisses.

"I will never forget the spit incident," Ymir says sagely.

"You don't have to yell about it every time you see me in public," Jean mutters. He smooths a hand back through his hair. God, he looks so uncool.

"What are you doing here?" Annie asks, raising her eyebrows.

Jean glances at her. "Am I not allowed to just go to things?"

Ymir grimaces. "Eh, no. You're looking for Sasha, right?"

"No," Jean exclaims. He turns away for a second, then turns back. "Yes. Is she here?"

"I dunno," Ymir says with a shrug. Sasha's definitely here.

"Thanks," he mutters.

"Hey," Annie says suddenly, cocking her head. "You should enter the spelling bee."

Jean frowns. "I'm not in a fraternity."

Well, he's got one thing going for him.

"Sasha would love that," Ymir says. "She's really into guys that can spell."

"Really?" he asks. "What's the prize?"

"A hundred dollars to your fraternity's philanthropy."

Jean glares at her. "I'm not in a fraternity."

"Oh, well," Ymir sighs, flopping back in her chair. "I guess she'll never love you back."

"I'm not in love with her!"

Mikasa appears at the table then, slipping behind their chairs to stand between them. "We're starting soon," she says. She glances up at Jean. "Stop bullying people."

"Me?" Jean exclaims. "I'm the one being bullied."

"I'm talking to them," Mikasa says, glancing down at Annie and Ymir. "I should've made you both dress up as the Grinch."

"That's what I've been saying," Ymir grumbles.

Mikasa rolls her eyes. "Go find your seats before the show starts."

The auditorium is nearly full when the lights finally go down, and Ymir finds Reiner in the audience just as the event begins onstage. He's sitting amidst his Gamma brothers, who all greet Ymir with a sullen glance. They definitely know who she is. She's hard to ignore when she's beating Reiner with a pool stick in the basement of the Gamma house at four in the morning. But that's another story.

Reiner forces a fist bump on Ymir, then makes a pledge give up his seat so she can sit down.

"You're so powerful," she whispers. "We're not allowed to haze our new members."

"We're only allowed to haze Alex because he turned out to be a homophobic asshole. We're converting him through marginalization."

"That'll work," Ymir mutters.

"No, he's definitely going to drop out. We won't really miss him."

She tucks her hands into the pockets of her Santa coat (the Gamma brother sitting behind her has already stolen her Santa hat. She'll have to twist some nipples to get that back after the show) and gets comfy in her seat as the spelling bee begins, the contestants lined up on stage and all looking slightly scared, because this is definitely just an opportunity for them to be laughed at ruthlessly. Hedy's vibrant and slightly annoying personality has earned her the role of host, and she takes her seat on stage dressed as the Cat in the Hat. She gives a terrifying smile to the contestants, then begins the show with the word  _sesquiterpene_. Good god. Is this the easy level?

"We made Eren sign up for Gamma," Reiner whisper-exclaims to Ymir.

She frowns at him. "You know the goal is to win, right?"

"We've already forfeited that prospect. We just thought it would be funnier this way."

They watch as the contestants stumble through the first few words. They've each been given three lives, which was a good call because no one spells anything right in the first round. The show gets increasingly funny as it goes on, partially due to Hedy's personality as both judge and host; her example sentences are nonsense, and by the time the show is halfway over, there are only three candidates remaining, sweating under her intense glare.

The house lights come up for a brief intermission, and Ymir takes the chance to glance around the auditorium. She doesn't see Historia, although she's probably hidden somewhere in the crowd of Zeta sisters on the opposite side of the room. She doesn't see Bertholdt here either. That's not much of a surprise, since he usually skips Greek events, but she'd been hoping that he'd be here, just to reassure her.

Reiner catches her looking. "You knew he wouldn't be here, right?"

She sighs and leans back in her seat. "I know, but I kind of thought, you know, I haven't seen you guys together in a while. Maybe this could've been, like, a date night or something."

"You wanted us to go on a date to the spelling bee?"

"I'm just saying," Ymir exclaims, glaring at him. "We've been back at school for almost a month now, and God knows how long this shit has been going on since before that. Can you guys just make up for Valentines' Day?"

"We're working on it," Reiner says. "And we're not fighting- I don't know why you keep talking about it like that."

The lights go down again, indicating the end of intermission, and Ymir settles down into her seat with a humph. Reiner's determined not to let her get away with this again.

"I've told you, Ymir," he whispers, shifting in his seat to lean closer to her. "This is a good thing for us. Taking time off is giving us some perspective."

The Gamma brother sitting behind them leans down.

"You know," he says, and Ymir jerks up, swearing, as he plops the Santa hat back onto her head. "Taking a break can be a really healthy step in a relationship. It shows maturity and a willingness to compromise."

"It shows a reluctance to commit," Ymir hisses back at him. "And who the fuck asked you?"

Reiner glances sideways at her. "Chad knows what he's talking about. He's a gender studies major."

_"Chad?"_  Ymir whisper-exclaims.  _"Chad_  is majoring in gender studies?"

"Don't be so heteronormative."

"Shut the fuck up, Chad. God, Reiner, I hope you don't get all your relationship advice from him."

"Look," he whispers, slouching down in his seat. "I'll tell you this for the hundredth time: I think this break is working for us. It's given me some time to think about what I want from a relationship, and I think that'll help us both in the long run."

"Assuming you actually get back together," Ymir adds, narrowing her eyes.

Reiner looks at her. "We will."

She can't read his face in the dark theatre, but he doesn't sound nearly as confident as she wants him to sound.

"I want to get back together," he clarifies.

Ymir flops her head back against her seat, and the Santa hat is immediately stolen again. She knew that Bertholdt was the flight risk in this relationship, and she still let it happen. This whole time, she's been panicking about what would happen if Reiner and Bertholdt ever broke up, but it was never imminent enough to imagine in concrete terms. She knew it would be a mess, but she realizes, now, how especially terribly bad and awful it would be if Bertholdt decided to leave. He still lives with Reiner, he still plays with Reiner, and... Reiner still loves him.

She would rather have them hate each other.

Ymir sighs. "I just... don't want you to get hurt."

Reiner smirks at her. "You're worried about me."

"Of course I'm worried about you," she whisper-yells. "You think any of these Chads are gonna give a fuck about you the way I do?"

"I'm pretty sure I'm the one who convinced you to join your sorority, and I remember giving my loving and supportive fraternity as an example of the kind of brotherhood- or sisterhood- that you'd benefit from."

"You're, like, the only actual gay guy in Gamma, okay? Fuck Chad. I'm just saying, I am your entire LGBT community."

"That's not true. Eren is... something."

"Eren's a piece of shit, that's what."

Chad leans down again. "He just misspelled  _rhythm_."

Ymir glances at the stage. "God, how'd he even make it this far? Get out of my face, Chad."

Reiner shifts in his seat to face her. "I'm not going to tell you not to worry about me, Ymir, because we both know that would be useless. But I promise that I'm taking this seriously. It may not look that way to you, but contrary to some beliefs, I don't make all of my decisions with an intent to hurt myself."

Ymir is mollified by that for a moment, as someone does something stupid on stage and the audience shakes with laughter around her; but that's a weird way to phrase a sentence: I don't make all of my decisions with an intent to hurt myself. So, just some decisions? And contrary to whose popular belief?

She turns back to Reiner. "Is that what this is all about?"

He glances at her. He says nothing, but the silence tells her that he already knows what she's going to ask. He already knows that she's going to be right.

"Is that what Bertholdt's afraid of?" Ymir continues, whispering. "I mean, forgive me for being an insensitive fuck, but, like, does he think you're going to hurt yourself? Does he have reason to think that?"

Reiner looks at her for a second before turning back to the stage. "He doesn't know what to think about me."

Ymir raises her eyebrows. "So this is his solution? To leave you alone this figure that out?"

"This was a mutual decision," Reiner says. "I don't think he actually thinks that I'm going to do anything, Ymir, and I'm not, it's just..."

He trails off. Then he continues.

"You weren't there this summer," he says.

Her chest tightens. "What happened?"

Reiner sighs.

Ymir jerks upright in her seat, leaning over the armrest towards him. "You guys have been talking circles around this all fucking year, and I still don't know what the hell happened. Something happened, right? You said that something happened to someone else, but no one's told me what."

"I'll tell you," Reiner says. He glances around. "But not here."

The sun has set when they slip out of the theatre, and the wind bristles against Ymir's skin. She follows Reiner across campus to the coffee shop, where they order warm drinks and dunk into the most secluded corner, setting themselves up at a small booth. The shop closes in an hour and is nearly empty anyways, but Reiner picks a seat with the best vantage view of the room, and he glances around for a silent moment when they sit down.

"Is this that big of a deal?" Ymir asks, glancing over her shoulder. She clutches her hands around her drink and turns back to him. "You're making me paranoid."

"I don't want to be overheard," he says. "This isn't really my story to tell."

"Other people know about it," Ymir says.

"They shouldn't," he says. He takes a sip of his latte. "If it was me, I wouldn't want everyone to know."

"Alright, fine. But you'll tell me?"

"You can't repeat this."

"I won't. Now, what the hell happened?"

Reiner grasps his cup. "I don't want to say names. It wasn't anyone that you really know, anyways."

"It was someone on tour, though, right?"

"It was," Reiner confirms. "But not anyone that you're particularly close with."

She furrows her brow. "But you and Bertholdt were?"

"Not really," he says. "We just happened to be there. We just- this person, we were the ones who found them."

Ymir remains quiet for a moment, staring at him, trying to read his face. Then she takes a breath. "So, what happened?"

"I don't know them that well either," Reiner says, staring into his coffee. "So beforehand, I didn't know that there was anything going on. But once we were on tour, I mean, we were all together, and all the time. We were sharing buses and trains and hotel rooms, and we were always exhausted and running on adrenaline. So, in that kind of tight space, I learned a lot about everyone.

"But it became clear," he says, picking his words slowly, "that this person was- I don't even know what, but they were working through some shit."

Ymir raises an eyebrow. "We're talking about mental health shit, right?"

"Yeah. Bertholdt noticed before I did, I guess because, you know, my own mental health isn't always evident to me, but he sees it up close all the time. So he pointed it out to me, and... we should have said something, I guess, but again, I didn't really know this person, so I didn't know what was normal, and..."

Reiner trails off there, pursing his lips together.

"We had a night off near the middle of the tour," he says. "We all went out for drinks, because, you know, it's Europe. Bert and I went back to the hotel firsts, and we were on our way back to our room when we saw that the carpet was wet, so- let's make a long and graphic story short. We broke down the door and found this person unconscious in the bathtub."

He taps his fingernails on his cup. "They'd tried to overdose."

"Holy shit," Ymir mutters, her eyes wide. She raises her cups to her lips, but then she sets it down again without taking a drink and glances across at Reiner. "Why didn't you guys say anything about this?"

"It freaked me out," Reiner exclaims. He pushes a hand back through his hair. "Seeing it in real life. I didn't want to think about it, just in case.

"I've never been like that," he adds quickly. "And I don't ever want to be, but, you've seen how I get. I don't trust myself enough not to say never."

Ymir rubs her eyes. "...right."

"And for Bertholdt, it was..."

She glances up, blinking. "Oh."

Reiner sighs and leans back in his seat. "Right. He couldn't see anyone else but me in that tub. He was so fucked up about it for a while that I was the one worrying about him."

Ymir drops back in the booth with a huge release of breath.  "So, that explains something, I guess."

"I told you," Reiner says. "He doesn't know what to think about me, and it's killing him. He spends half of his time paranoid that he's going to come home and find me dead on the floor, and the other half being evasive and distant because he's trying to remember how to trust me."

Reiner frowns. "Or, to keep himself from getting hurt, I guess. He doesn't want to be there if I ever actually do something."

Ymir takes a sip of her drink. "That's pretty shitty."

"I don't blame him. I mean, I don't want to be there either. I can't imagine, you know, if this was the other way around. Would I be able to stand there and watch him destroy himself?"

"But you're not," Ymir exclaims, setting her cup down. "You're fine."

"That's the point," Reiner says. "That's why we were doing this. He hasn't been able to look at me and see anything else for the last couple of months. So we're spending some time apart and if we can make it to the other side of this without losing it, then at least we'll be able to talk about it. I'll know that he can learn to trust me again, and he'll know that I'm fine. And I love him, even if he's scared."

Ymir drops her elbows onto the table and ducks her head into her hands, groaning. "I need to stay out of other peoples' business."

"Sorry. It's a lot to handle."

"Yeah," she exclaims, pulling her head up. "No fucking wonder you guys have been weird all year."

Reiner smiles, lifting his drink to his lips- then his gaze shifts to something across the room and he gives a small wave to someone. "I think you're being hunted down."

"What?" She glances over her shoulder. "Oh, hello, ladies who did not think to  _tell me_  that they're dating now."

Reiner chokes on his coffee. "They're dating!?"

Mikasa and Annie approach the table, their arms linked together. They unwrap from each other and Mikasa sets her to-go cup down, playing with the string of the tea bag inside.

"You left the event early," she says, glancing at Ymir. "Gamma won."

"Eren won?" Ymir exclaims. "A spelling bee?"

"You don't have to say it like that."

"Wow," Reiner says. "We nominated him to watch him lose."

Mikasa cocks her head, glowering. "Well, he won, so congratulations."

Annie slurps on her hot chocolate.

"Hi, Annie," Reiner chirps, leaning around Mikasa to greet her. "How are you?"

"Ugh."

He turns back to Mikasa. "Hey, are you coming to Gamma formal again this year?"

"You went to Gamma formal last year?" Annie exclaims, glancing sharply at Mikasa, who turns her glare down to Reiner.

"I'm never going to that again," she mutters. "Thanks for reminding me."

Ymir looks between them. "I know I'm always out of the loop, but what is-"

"It's our formal weekend," Reiner explains.

Mikasa grimaces. "It's a nightmare."

"It's a tradition."

"That's what they said about slavery," Annie mutters.

Reiner turns to her, smiling in disbelief. "Did I do something to offend you? I mean, more than usual?"

Mikasa cuts off any response, addressing Ymir. "Fraternity formals are just an excuse to spend all weekend drinking in the woods. I wouldn't recommend attending one."

Ymir frowns. "That sounds kinda dope though."

"It is," Reiner insists. He shifts a sly smirk to Mikasa. "And as you know, it's a great place to rebound, so if you two are over by mid-April-"

"No thanks," Mikasa exclaims.

Annie turns to her. "Did you rebound at Gamma formal with Eren after you broke up with Jean? Is that where you were last April?"

"You rebounded with Eren?" Ymir coughs, smacking her coffee cup onto the table. "After breaking up with Jean? God, I thought someone with your fashion sense would have better taste."

She pauses. "Wait, isn't he your brother?"

"Speaking of Jean," Mikasa says, completely ignoring that very important accusation, "we came to find you, Ymir, because we thought you'd like to know that Sasha is currently having dinner with him."

Ymir sputters. "I've told her-"

"She couldn't be convinced to get over him," Annie says.

"We're going to let her crash and burn," Mikasa adds. "It shouldn't take long."

Ymir wiggles her eyebrows. "You would know, huh."

"We're leaving now," Mikasa says, grabbing Annie by the hand.

When they're gone, Ymir furrows her brow at Reiner. "I thought Eren and Mikasa were related."

"I thought Annie would have forgiven me for the wrong that I never did her, but what do I know?"

Ymir digs into her jacket pocket for her phone, then sets it flat on the table and begins typing as she reaches for her coffee. "One day, you're going to find out that you were, like, the first step in the butterfly effect of murdering her entire family or something."

"Maybe I was," Reiner sighs. "Maybe she thinks I'm just another Chad. Do you think she'd like me more if she knew I was trans?"

"That's not usually how it works," Ymir mutters. She smacks the keyboard on her phone with finality. "Okay, I've given Sasha the appropriate condemnation for going out with Jean. I can't fucking believe her. She doesn't even like him, she's just horny."

Reiner sips on his coffee. "Well, she should at least sleep with him."

Ymir glares at him. "Excuse me?"

"He dated Mikasa, so he has to have something going for him. It's certainly not his face, so..."

Reiner trails off, shrugging. "Save a horse, ride a cowboy."

Ymir downs the rest of her coffee. "I'm going to bed. I can't handle any more of you today."

"You just chugged a large coffee with a shot of espresso."

She chucks the empty cup at him. "Don't underestimate me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> end notes: reiner and ymir talk about the attempted overdose of an unnamed person. reiner makes references to his own mental health and the suggestion of his own suicidal/harmful thoughts.


	17. little black hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously on soul sisters: eren won a spelling bee, and ymir finally learned the truth about something mysterious. this week: university politics!

It snows in February, and Ymir's trudge around campus gets infinitely trudgier. She's late everywhere that week as she mushes through the dirty snow on the sidewalks. She gets absolutely crucified for walking into symphony rehearsal on the hour, even though Zeke rolls in five minutes later looking like the absolute stoner that he is (he may not actually be a stoner, but he definitely dresses like one) and no one says anything to him. She's suing the school for discrimination.

She's late to yoga too, although the fact that she's still showing up is a miracle in and of itself. The Friday morning before Valentines' Day is a particularly quiet day on campus, a fresh blanket of snow having fallen overnight, and it's the first time that Sasha begins to falter on her New Year's Resolution.

**Text from Sasha  
** ok i know i said i was going to the gym even if it snowed  
but i'm so warm inside my bed  
and i've been working out a lot, so i deserve a break right?

**Text from Ymir  
** i fucking knew it  
you barely even made it to february

**Text from Sasha  
** i'm not giving up!! i'll be back next week.  
but it's friday and i don't have classes so instead of going to the gym i could sleep until noon and then drink hot chocolate and watch netflix and that sounds much better

**Text from Ymir  
** must be nice not to have friday classes

**Text from Sasha  
** you're the one who's been complaining about too much free time, okay  
so let me enjoy mine

**Text from Ymir  
** i'm going to yoga just to make you feel bad

She does, too. She immediately regrets it when she steps outside and realizes it's still snowing, but the rec center is just fifty feet from her dorm, and she manages to burst through the doors without getting too wet. She doesn't have class until the afternoon anyways, so she can have a leisurely breakfast and then take a shower and maybe fit in a nap too before she has to suffer through the last orchestration class of the week. God, that class fucking sucks. Why do all of her classes suck so-

Ymir's thoughts are cut off inside her head when she makes it to the yoga studio, because there is Historia again, sitting on the same mat, staring up at Ymir as her coat drips onto the floor.

"Ymir," the instructor says wearily. "Can you hang that outside?"

"Right," Ymir exclaims. "No problem."

The class is even smaller than usual today, just Ymir, Historia, and a coughing girl up front who should probably not be exercising right now. Ymir's late, too, so the vibe in the studio is a little weird today, at least until Historia glances over at her in the middle of their warm-up stretches and smiles.

"You made it all the way here in the snow, huh?" she asks, stretching her arms across her chest.

Ymir refrains from completely sputtering at the sound of her voice. "I'm a regular now. I wouldn't miss this for the world."

She's only here to make Sasha feel guilty for abandoning her, but Historia doesn't need to know that.

"Well, you're doing better than me," Historia says with a sigh. "I was really good about coming to these classes last year, but, I don't know, it's just been harder this year."

"Everything's been harder this year," Ymir mutters.

They shift into the bridge pose ("arch your pelvises to the sky, ladies"), and then move into a series of fluid exercises that Ymir can barely keep up with. For as long as she's been coming to this class now, she thought she'd be at least a little better, but something new is introduced every time, and, like, for fuck's sakes, if this is the beginning class, what are they doing in the next level? Handstands? Yeah, actually, that sounds about right.

The class is beginning to cool down when Historia glances at Ymir again.

"I have a weird question," she whispers.

Ymir lifts her head from child's pose to glance at her. "Uh, okay."

"I don't know if you know," Historia says, "but I'm the president of the Panhellenic council now."

"I may have heard that."

"So, I'm in charge of organizing the Greek Games this year," she continues. "And I'm still looking for volunteer coordinators to help out, since I can't do everything myself. You don't know anyone who's interested, do you?"

"Uh," Ymir says. "...not really."

"Of course not," Historia sighs. She relaxes from the position and sits back on her heels, then reaches up to push the hair out of her face. "No one's interested."

She glances at Ymir. "Unless you want to do it?"

Ymir drops out of the pose and onto her ass. "What?"

Historia pulls the tie out of her hair and lets it fall over her shoulders, then begins knotting it into a braid on the back of her head. "I get the feeling that volunteering isn't really your scene, but you don't take any shit and I need someone like that on my side. I think you'd be able to help me gets things in shape."

"I do like to yell at people," Ymir says.

"So, are you interested?"

"Oh," Ymir says. "Wait, you're actually asking?"

"Yeah."

She tries to remember exactly what this position entails. Sasha had mentioned it briefly, but Ymir had never get the full details. Then she remembers that it's probably a bad idea to even consider saying yes, because having yoga with Historia is great, but Ymir had told herself she was going to keep some distance between them. Then again, she does need something to do with her free time.

"Would I get a cool title?" Ymir asks.

Historia furrows her brow. "You can make one up, I guess."

"Well, it's definitely an enticing offer now."

"I need someone to do all the little things for me," Historia says. "The Greek Games is the biggest event that we organize in the spring, but I'm overseeing so much else at the same time: risk management and academic probation and spring recruitment, all of the stuff that actually allows our sororities to function here. I get it, the Games are great for the community, but planning them by myself would be impossible."

She ties off her braid. "I just need someone to do what I tell them."

Ymir stares at her. "You know what?"

Historia looks over. "What?"

"I'll do it," Ymir says.

"Really?"

"I've got time this semester," she says. "And if I'm planning the Games, I don't have to compete, right?"

"Are you agreeing to this just so you don't have to play sports?"

"Maybe. Would that be such a bad thing?"

Historia's smile breaks into a laugh. "No, I don't want to compete either."

She levels her gaze at Ymir. "You're serious, though? You'll actually do this?"

"Of course," Ymir exclaims. "Cross my heart, hope to die."

To her credit, Historia's desperation is only half the reason Ymir volunteers to coordinate the Greek Games. Like, she's extremely happy to see Historia's name in her inbox that afternoon, adding her to the Google Drive and inviting her to the next Panhellenic council meeting. But she may have dual ulterior motives. Beta has been pretty fucking good to Ymir, and if she can get behind the scenes and rig the games to help them win, then so help her god, she will. Annie and Mikasa are deadly serious about this competition. They might actually murder each other over it.

Still, she stares at that email for a very long time.

The Games are still months away, but preparations have already begun in earnest because, as Ymir learns, the university likes to drag its ass on this kind of shit, so Panhellenic has to get started early, just in case all of their request forms get "lost" in someone's office. Ymir learns a lot, actually, at the Panhellenic meeting the next Wednesday, where she introduces herself in the first five minutes and then sits back and watches with wide eyes as the officers yell at each other for the remaining hour. It's what she imagines Congress is like, although something actually comes out of it at the end, and Ymir is assigned her first task as coordinator.

Historia thrusts a stack of folders into Ymir's arms after the meeting.

"These are all of our request forms," she explains, adding one more folder on top of the already staggering stack. "For the gym, the athletic fields, the sand courts, the auditorium, and so on."

"Christ," Ymir exclaims under the weight of the documents. "How many requests are we making?"

"We're basically reserving the entire campus," Historia says. She snatches a sticky note off the table and begins to scribble something down on it. "Getting all of these approved is our first big step, and then once we've done that, we can actually begin planning logistics."

"Shouldn't we be, like, scheduling games before reserving places for games?"

Historia glances up to give her a grimace. "You'd think, huh?"

"I'm guessing the university is at fault for this?"

She stands and smacks the sticky note onto top folder in Ymir's arms.

"It's not the university this time," Historia says, pushing her hair back over her shoulders with a sigh. "I mean, they'll be a pain in the ass later. But everything we do has to be approved by the Greek Life office first, and then they pass it up to the administration for us."

She pats the sticky note. "Just take these to the office tomorrow- I wrote down the room number- and get Levi to sign them. He's the worst person I've ever met, so you may have to threaten him."

Ymir stares at her. "Quick question: am I in the mafia now?"

"Maybe," Historia says. "If he doesn't get it done by the end of this week, let me know and I'll sort it out."

She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Sorry, I would do this myself, but I'm interviewing for summer internships all this week and I don't have time right now."

"I have time," Ymir says, backing out of the door with the folders. "I got this, no problem."

**Text from Ymir  
** by the way  
who the fuck is levi

**Text from Sasha  
** he's the graduate assistant in the greek life office  
he's the worst

**Text from Ymir  
** why is that exactly what historia said  
what am i getting myself into

**Text from Sasha  
** because it's true  
but you've met him already

**Text from Ymir  
** i feel like i would remember this person

**Text from Sasha  
** he came to a chapter meeting last semester to talk about academic probation

**Text from Ymir  
** holy fuck that guy??

**Text from Sasha  
** yep

**Text from Ymir  
** he doesn't give a shit about greek life

**Text from Sasha  
** no he does not

**Text from Ymir  
** well what the hell is he doing here

**Text from Sasha  
** not really sure? a job is a job, i guess  
although mikasa thinks it's because he's pining after the director of student life or whatever

**Text from Ymir  
** ok so who is that

**Text from Sasha  
** do you do anything at this university?

**Text from Ymir  
** excuse me for not knowing the names of all the creeps in the admin  
they're just sucking our money from us like vampires anyways

**Text from Sasha  
** you have to know dr. smith though

**Text from Ymir  
** oh my god  
is that the guy who always raps about the code of conduct at commencement?

**Text from Sasha  
** *tries to rap

**Text from Ymir  
** well he's objectively hot even if he's an idiot  
i can say that, as a lesbian

**Text from Sasha  
** right  
so i guess there's something going on there

**Text from Ymir  
** how we do know they're not already fucking

**Text from Sasha  
** that's what annie said  
the general beta consensus is that levi is waiting to kiss him in a rainstorm or at a fireworks show or something

**Text from Ymir  
** ok well i have to get him to sign a bunch of shit for the greek games, so

**Text from Sasha  
** good luck

**Text from Ymir  
** what am i in for exactly?

**Text from Sasha  
** he's just like the worst person alive

**Text from Ymir  
** this is going great

**Text from Sasha  
** do me a favor when you meet with him  
subtly mention dr. smith and then give me your take based on his reaction

**Text from Ymir  
** god this campus is weird

She lugs the huge stack of request forms back to her dorm room and abandons them there for the rest of the night, because right now, she has to be a star. She dons her best concert blacks (all of her clothes are old and wrinkled, so she hopes that these are less so), grabs her bassoon case, and heads down to the performance hall in Saber for her magazine photoshoot.

"Nobody panic," Ymir exclaims as she saunters into the room. Her voice echoes down to the stage, where Bertholdt sits with his cello, staring at her. "Your star has arrived."

Bertholdt resumes rosining his bow. "The photoshoot's been pushed back half an hour."

Ymir reaches the stage and slams her backpack down on the edge, glaring up at him. "What?"

He shrugs. "The photographer is stuck in traffic."

"Well, great," she mutters. She slings her bassoon up onto the stage, then heaves herself over the edge, tumbling forwards onto her stomach as her feet dangle over the pit. "Where's Zeke? Is he stuck in traffic too?"

"I think he went to get coffee," Bertholdt says from his chair. He glances down at Ymir, who merely rolls over onto her back and squints into the stage lights. "What are you doing?"

She sits up with a huff and glares at him over her shoulder. "I'm emoting."

"...alright."

"Preparing for my big moment in front of the camera. I better come out looking like a fucking red carpet bassoonist."

"I don't know if there's such a thing, but I won't stop you from dreaming."

She grabs her things and stumbles upright before trudging over to an empty chair. "Shut up."

Someone has already been by to prepare for the photoshoot, since there's an elaborate lighting rig constructed on one side of the stage. Their three chairs are spread out in a semi-circle: Bertholdt, tuning his cello; Ymir, unpacking her bassoon; and Zeke, nowhere to be found, although he did leave his violin case beneath his seat. It would be an incredible opportunity to sabotage his career, but Ymir cannot afford whatever hundred-thousands that instrument costs, so she settles for glaring in its direction and hoping it will curse him.

She takes a few moments to polish her bassoon, then straightens out her blouse in the best way she can without an iron, wishes she'd thought about going to get coffee before this, decides that the free headshots she'll get are worth sitting under hot lights for what might be hours, and settles back in her chair.

"Well, well, well," Ymir sighs with satisfaction as she glances around the stage. "How the tables have turned."

"You still have some dust on your shirt," Bertholdt says without looking up. "From when you, you know, crawled onto the stage like an animal."

She brushes at a speck of dust on her shoulder. "I should be allowed to crawl like an animal. Look at me! I went from literally getting kicked out of the music school to being the actual face of recruitment! What a glow up, honestly."

Bertholdt glances sideways at her. "Should I remind you again that this is literally just the cover for a school magazine?"

"It's for a special alumni edition," Ymir exclaims, grabbing her bassoon from her lap. She flips through the sheet music on her stand and settles for a particularly annoying section in the symphony's latest number, one they're supposed to be performing on their spring break tour in just a few weeks. "Think of all the fancy alumni who will see me on the cover and immediately offer me well-paying bassoon-related jobs."

Bertholdt sets his bow down on the lip of his stand and rubs his forehead, staring at her. "Okay, I didn't want to say this, but-"

"I know I'm never going to get a job," Ymir snaps.

"You know why they picked you, right?" he continues.

She looks at him. "Because we're trying to recruit more bassoons?"

He stares at her harder.

"Oh god," Ymir exclaims, her bassoon falling limp in her hands. "I'm a token."

Bertholdt grimaces.

"I thought they were trying to recruit bassoons," she laments. She leans forward onto her stand; it tips until it drops horizontally, and her sheet music slides off onto the stage. She drops her head onto it, groaning. "Why else would they put a bassoonist on the cover?"

"Because the music school's in hot water for being overwhelmingly white and male," Bertholdt explains as he reaches for his bow again. "The student newspaper just wrote a huge thing about it."

"Who the fuck reads the student newspaper?"

"This whole thing is Dean McVey's attempt to make us look more diverse."

Ymir scoffs, sitting upright. "What the hell are you doing here then? What minority demographic do you represent?  _Tall_?"

Bertholdt sneers at her.

Ymir sneers back.

"I'm just taking Reiner's place after he said no," he says, tightening his bow. "He knew what they were up to, so he turned it down."

"So they picked you, the second gayest cellist."

"They picked me because I'm first chair," Bertholdt mutters.

"Sure," Ymir says. She leans back in her chair and sighs. "Boy, I bet Braun was offended. Wish I had gotten the chance to be offended by my tokenization, but, you know, no one warned me until I was already here."

"He didn't want to talk about it," Bertholdt says.

"I meant  _you_ , asshole."

"He didn't even know that Dean McVey  _knew_ ," Bertholdt explains. He flips through his sheet music restlessly. "I mean, some of his school documents haven't been updated with his real name and gender, because of state laws and whatever, but- you know, that stuff's not exactly out in the open. He's never even told Dr. Mikkelsen."

Ymir squints up into the stage lights. "I'd love to watch him punch Dean McVey in the face."

Bertholdt glances at her. "Reiner, or Dr. Mikkelsen?"

"I would take either, although now that I think about it, a professor-on-professor fight sounds like my kind of shit."

"Have you ever even met Dean McVey?"

"I've _seen_ him. You know, like, at concerts and stuff."

"So, no."

"Okay, no," Ymir exclaims, "but he's always sounded like a piece of shit to me!"

Bertholdt sighs. "He's a huge dick."

One of the back doors opens then, letting a slip of light from the hallway spill across the last row of seats, and Ymir glances down the length of the performance hall to glare through the dark at Zeke, who has returned with his coffee.

"Okay," she says, furrowing her brow as she turns back to Bertholdt. "So if this is a diversity thing, then what is  _he_ doing here?"

"A more subtle diversity angle."

She scoffs. "How?"

"Real monsters are rare these days," Bertholdt says.

Ymir stares at him, her eyes wide. "Alright man, I knew that I hated Zeke, but what did he ever do to you?"

"He's the one who suggested Reiner to Dean McVey," Bertholdt mutters. Ymir has never heard so much  _ice_ in his voice.

"Oh my god," she exclaims. She leans over to hiss at him as Zeke approaches the stage. "Please, Hoover, punch him in the face."

"I'm trying  _not_ to deck the concertmaster, actually."

"You could fucking take him."

"I know I could," Bertholdt says. His grip tightens on the neck of his cello. "That's what makes it so tempting."  

Ymir is very broke and very, very cheap, but she would pay the big bucks to see someone actually deck Zeke. Especially if it was Bertholdt.

Unfortunately for her masochistic instincts, the photographer arrives then and the photoshoot begins in earnest. Posing sexily with her bassoon is a lot less fun when she know she's just being used to make the music school seem "woke," and when the photographer tells her to stop posing so sexily, and by the time the whole thing is over, she is drenched in sweat, starving, and ready to go home.

It's nice, at least, to hear Bertholdt sticking up for Reiner. Even if nothing else comes out of this relationship break, maybe that's a good sign that they can still be friends after all.

That's the worst thought she has ever uttered to herself, and she immediately aborts it by falling asleep.

Ymir manages to find her way to the Greek Life office the next morning before wind quartet, which was a terrible choice on her part, because it means she's carrying not only the huge stack of request forms that Historia gave her, but also her backpack and her bassoon case. She gets lost in the administrative building for ten minutes before she wanders down a forbidden hallway and gets yelled at by the Dean of Students, and then finally, she finds the right office.

It's suspiciously quiet inside. In fact, it's just one tiny dude sitting at a desk, drinking tea and reading a textbook that definitely has nothing to do with Greek life.

"Are you Levi?" Ymir shouts over the stack of folders.

He glances up, and she instantly wants to punch him in the face.

"What do you want?" he asks, slamming the textbook shut.

"I have a bunch of request forms that Panhellenic needs approved," she says. She moves towards his desk. "I just give these to you?"

"Uh-huh," he barks.

She stops. "What?"

Levi points to the AC unit under the window next to his desk. "There."

Ymir stares at him. "These are important."

He doesn't repeat himself, just swivels back around in his chair and resumes drinking his potent-smelling tea, which, alright, Ymir can respect that. She does as she's told and slams the entire stack down onto the AC unit, in between what looks like two boxes of unanswered memos. That's a promising sign.

She takes a breath and readjusts her bassoon case on her shoulder. "So, you're a grad student here? What are you studying?"

"Counseling."

Ymir snorts. "Excuse me?"

"I'm getting my master's in archaeology," Levi says, glowering at her. "Do I look like a fucking counselor?"

"We have an archaeology program?"

"It's terrible. Don't go to school here."

"It's a little late for that, but thanks for the advice."

She starts towards the door just as he swivels over to the AC unit to examine the request forms. She's nearly outside when she hears a disapproving click of the tongue.

"Hold on," Levi says.

Ymir turns on her heel.

He holds up one of the forms. "I'm not signing these."

Ymir screams on the inside. "Sorry, what?"

"A request this large has to be approved by the Student Life office first."

"I thought the Greek Life office had to approve anything before it went to the Student Life office."

"Not for a request like this." He glances at the paper on top. "You're trying to reserve the auditorium?"

"It's for the Greek Games."

"Students aren't allowed to reserve the auditorium."

"I'm aware," Ymir says loudly, "which is why it's being reserved by the Panhellenic Council, not by an individual student."

He frowns at the papers. "Hm."

"So should I take them to the Student Life office?"

He heaves the stack of folders off the AC unit and drops them onto the edge of his desk, sending them cascading onto the floor. "Don't come back until they're approved."

"I still have to come back?" Ymir exclaims, wading in a sea of folders.

"You requests still have to be approved by the Greek Life office."

"Are you serious?" she exclaims.

He looks at her. "Yes."

Ymir swallows the yell that's currently inhabiting her throat. "Fine," she mutters, bending down to pick up the folders. "I will be back once I get the approval of the Student Life office."

The Student Life office is just upstairs, around the corner, and, conveniently, away on a team-building retreat for the rest of the week. Ymir stands outside a corridor of shuttered office and unopened mailboxes, staring fruitlessly down the hall for a sign of life. There's nothing, except Dr. Smith's friendly handwritten note on the staff calendar warning of the entire office's absence from campus. A staff calendar, she notices with a sneer, that Levi's name is included on.

"The entire Student Life office is out this week," Ymir exclaims when she stumbles back downstairs, barely holding onto the unruly stack of folders in her arms.

Levi sips on his tea, not looking up. "I know."

"You're the one who sent me up there!"

"Your requests can't be approved until-"

"I know," Ymir moans as she collapses into the chair before his desk. He glances up sharply, as if disgusted by her audacity, and honestly, that just makes her sink into the seat even harder. "Will you just sign, like, one of these forms? Just so I can say I got something done?"

He slams his mug down and reaches over the table to rip the first folder from the stack.

Ymir lets out a sigh and leans back in the chair as he flips through the pages in the folder. "Aren't you part of the Student Life office?"

"No."

"Your name was on the calendar."

"I don't work for them."

"Are you just acting like a dick because Dr. Smith didn't invite you on the staff retreat?"

Levi slings the folder back to her. "I don't work for Student Life."

"Isn't he technically your boss though?" Ymir asks, fumbling to grab the folder. "Hold on, denied? You can't deny my request!"

"I just did."

"Is it because I called you a dick?"

"That didn't help."

"Aren't you the intern or something?" Ymir exclaims. She drops the folders onto his desk and stands up, craning her neck to get a view into the office next door, expecting to find an actual adult. "Where's your manager?"

"I'm the graduate assistant," Levi says, swiveling away from her in his chair, "and I have full authority over the decisions made in this office."

"We don't even get a full-time staff member?"

"There are only six Greek organizations on this campus. What do you need a staff member for?"

"For, like, official stuff, I don't know. Aren't there seven Greek orgs?"

"It doesn't matter."

"I feel like it kind of does, actually-"

"I'm not approving a request of this size," Levi says, cutting her off as he reaches for his mug, "until you have explicit permission from the Student Life office to make such a request."

Ymir drops back into the seat. "What if I just submit one request at a time?"

"I guess you should have thought about that before you showed them to me all at once."

"Damn it."

Okay, first of all- fuck this guy. Man, they weren't kidding when they said he was the worst. Ymir can't tell if he's actually a bureaucratic asshole, or if he's just messing with her because he has nothing else to do, but it doesn't really matter, because she already hates him. On top of that, she's late for lunch with Sasha; then again, Sasha will probably be later than her. In a surprising turn of events, they show up at the same time.

"You're late," Sasha exclaims, gaping at Ymir from the front doors of the dining hall.

Ymir shoves past and swipes her card at the check-in counter. "It's not my fault."

"Well, then it's not my fault that I'm late too."

The dining hall, like most college cafeterias, is a garbage place that must be life-hacked in order to be enjoyed. Maybe  _enjoyed_ isn't the right word. Ymir's not sure anyone has ever enjoyed a meal in the dining hall, but it's sustenance and the meal plan is required as long as she lives on campus, so she has learned how to life-hack her way through the cafeteria.

Ymir and Sasha follow their usual routines through the food stations, carrying huge bowls to gather their ingredients: grains from the burrito station, proteins from the grill, and a trip through the salad bar to create something resembling a meal with nutritional substance. All the while, Ymir fills Sasha in on her woes.

"Historia said I should tell her if I can't get it done," Ymir sighs, picking through the green pepper slices to find some that look like they've actually been washed. "I feel like I shouldn't bother her with this, though."

Sasha raises her eyebrows. "Ooh, she gave you her phone number?"

"I already had her phone number."

"Oh, yeah. Well, just call her then."

"I don't want to annoy her," Ymir says, giving up on the green peppers. She moves onto the condiments, dumping a spoonful of shredded cheese into her burrito-bowl-salad-whatever-this-is. "She said she has internship interviews for the rest of the week. I mean, it's only Thursday. Maybe I can convince him to do it before the weekend."

Sasha purses her lips as she peruses the salad dressings. "Hmm, yeah, I don't think so."

"Thanks for the encouragement."

"She probably knew it wouldn't be easy," Sasha says. She jerks her bowl back and forth to toss her salad, a move that she keeps insisting on doing despite the fact that she always drops lettuce onto the floor. "Ah, shit. Look, everyone knows that Levi's an asshole. I wouldn't be surprised if Panhellenic Council has to bribe him to get him to do anything."

"Ooh," Ymir mutters, narrowing her eyes. "I could bribe him."

Sasha looks at her. "...with what?"

Ymir dumps more cheese onto her salad. "Fuck."

They head for a tall table near the front of the cafeteria (Ymir doesn't eat here often enough to have a usual booth, but she definitely has a favorite one and Sasha refuses to let her bully the nerds who are sitting there), and when they sit down, Sasha glances up with a smile.

"Oh, I know what you should do," she says, pointing her fork at Ymir. "You should join the fight club."

Ymir blinks at her. "Excuse me?"

"It's not actually a fight club," Sasha explains. "It's boxing or judo or something. I don't know."

"Learn to fight, then destroy him. Great idea."

"No, he advises the club," Sasha says, stabbing a tomato.

"Ugh, god, no."

"I bet he'll like you if you join. They're supposed to be really good, but they never have enough members so they're always on the brink of having to shut down."

"Have you seen me?" Ymir exclaims through a mouthful of lettuce. "Do I look like I can fight?"

"You look like you could, if you wanted to."

"I don't want to," Ymir says as she digs into her salad. She put so much god damn cheese in here, where is it? "I fought somebody, once, in high school, and by fought, I mean, she started pulling her earrings out and I started running. That bitch was wearing rings."

"Haven't you gained any yoga muscles?"

"...I can touch my toes."

Sasha furrows her brow. "You couldn't touch your toes before?"

"I'm not joining the fucking boxing club," Ymir exclaims, reaching for her drink.

Sasha shrugs and pops a baby corn into her mouth. "Fine, come up with your own plan."

Ymir chews on her straw. "I'll blackmail him."

"...with what?"

"Shit," she hisses. "Fine, I'll go to the damn fight club, but if he doesn't immediately agree to do everything I want, then I'm quitting."

Sasha stares across the table at her, chewing thoughtfully. "You must really like Historia if you stuck onto that stupid join-her-sorority plan for so long. You're the most likely to quit at everything else."

"Thanks. That was my high school superlative."

"Really?"

"No, I didn't have enough friends to get a superlative," Ymir says. She leans in. "Will you come to fight club with me?"

Sasha wrinkles her nose. "Absolutely not."

Ymir sits back. "What? Come on."

"No, sorry," Sasha says, shaking her head as she combs through her salad. "Mikasa used to be in that club, and then she had to leave because she punched Levi in the face. I'm a good friend, so I won't be attending, out of protest of the cruel and unusual punishment that was inflicted on her."

"But it's fine for me to go?"

"Sure, I mean, as long as you don't care what happens if Mikasa finds out."

She thinks about it. "What if I also punch Levi in the face after he signs my forms?"

Sasha sips on her drink. "I'd like to see you try."

Ymir huffs, leaning back in her seat. "I don't have any other ideas, except forging his signature on all the forms. But I can barely write my own signature consistently."

She grimaces, then glances up at Sasha. "I guess I'm going to fight club. When do they meet?"

Sasha swallows a mouthful of tea. "I don't know. Mondays?"

"Mondays don't help me, Sasha!"

"Alright, calm down," Sasha exclaims, reaching for her phone. "Hold on, you brat, I'll try to find their schedule."

She scrolls and clicks for a few seconds, Ymir watching earnestly from across the table, and then her face lights up.

"Oh, guess what?" she exclaims. "They're having a match tonight in the gym."

"A fight club match."

"Yeah."

"Okay," Ymir says, thinking. "So, I'll show up and... what, compete?"

"I thought that was idea."

Genius strikes her, suddenly, and Ymir whips out her phone. "I don't need to compete. I have someone who'll do it for me."

**Text from Ymir  
** i have an exciting opportunity for you

**Text from Reiner  
** why does this sound like a drug deal?

**Text from Ymir  
** it is, in its own way

**Text from Reiner  
** i'm listening

**Text from Ymir  
** ok i'm not actually selling you drugs

**Text from Reiner  
** then why are we talking ymir?

**Text from Ymir  
** i'm offering you unadulterated adrenaline

**Text from Reiner  
** i have a boyfriend

**Text from Ymir  
** i'm not hitting on you

**Text from Reiner  
** ur not? ;)

**Text from Ymir  
** god  
will you come to fight club with me

**Text from Reiner  
** ok hold on  
there's a fight club?

**Text from Ymir  
** apparently  
it might be boxing

**Text from Reiner  
** and we are going because?

**Text from Ymir  
** it's a bribe

**Text from Reiner  
** we are going to fight club to bribe someone?

**Text from Ymir  
** i need that asshole in the greek life office to sign all my shit  
and he's being a little bitch  
but he runs the fight club, so if we bulk up their terrible attendance  
then maybe he'll sign my shit

**Text from Reiner  
** are you talking about levi?  
because he won't

**Text from Ymir  
** i'm giving him a chance

**Text from Reiner  
** big mistake, but okay

**Text from Ymir  
** there's a match or game or something tonight  
i'm too delicate to fight obviously  
but you're the literal hulk

**Text from Reiner  
** you're basically asking me to beat people up for you

**Text from Ymir  
** yeah, it sounds better like that

**Text from Reiner  
** well i don't have any other plans tonight  
let's bet up some nerds


	18. come a little closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously on soul sisters: ymir and reiner made plans to beat up levi. this week: that does not go so well.

Fight club, Ymir realizes very quickly, is a terrible plan. In hindsight, she should know by now that making plans is not her forte; everything always goes wrong, and her ideas are usually ill-conceived to begin with.  Seduce a girl by joining her sorority? That’s insane. Bribe a school official into doing his job by beating up his best club members? Even worse.

Reiner meets her at the gym that evening, and they insert themselves into the scene before anyone can stop them. (He’s a little too excited about fighting, in her opinion, but she supposes that he needs to take it out on someone, since he can't actually punch Dean McVey in the face.) It’s an open invite, as always, because there are approximately two committed members of the club, plus a few flakes who show up every now and then, so the matches are a free-for-all full of overzealous ROTC guys and frat boys trying to regain some confidence after someone rejected their dick pic.

“I can’t believe you’ve never actually been to one of these before,” Ymir says, glancing around the gym.

They walked in late, as usual, and the first fight had already begun. Two guys are going at it in the middle of the gym (not like that, you pervert), and the rest of the participants are scattered around the bleachers in various stages of warm-up. Reiner has just finished adjusting his sweatband, and now he’s carefully wrapping his hands. Ymir is still not really sure what style of fighting this is, other than scrappy.

“Me neither,” Reiner admits. He tightens the wrap on his hand and flexes his fingers. “I feel like I’ve heard people talk about this though. When they said fight club, I thought they meant, like, a real fight club. Not a school-sponsored brawl.”

“I don’t know if I would call this a brawl,” Ymir mutters, leaning back against the bleachers. The two guys on the mat are basically just slapping each other now.

She scans the gym, looking for a certain terrible person. She frowns.

“He’s not even here,” Ymir hisses.

Reiner glances at her. “Levi?”

“He’s the fucking advisor for this club,” she exclaims. “Doesn’t he have to be here, legally, to make sure that nobody dies or something?”

“This fight would be more interesting if somebody did die.”

Ymir huffs and crosses her arms before turning her attention back to the mat. “Which one are you rooting for? Spaghetti arms or flaccid dick?”

He looks at her. “You just described both of them.”

“I know,” Ymir says. She shivers suddenly. “I feel like I’m in some kind of underground incel fighting ring. There is so much emasculated testosterone in this room.”

“Making virgins fight for sport is unethical.”

“Reiner, don’t say that so loud. They could hear us.”

That match ends abruptly when each of the opponents simultaneously decides to throw a tantrum and storm out of the gym. The next fight is, at least, comprised of actual club members who seem to know what they’re doing. They spar for nearly twenty minutes (spar? fight? box? battle? who knows) before one finally pins the other to the ground, and then the mat is open.

Ymir jumps to her feet, shoving Reiner out of the bleachers. “Now’s your chance,” she hisses, trying to push him. God, he’s like a mountain. He does not budge.

He glances up at her. “Wait, who am I challenging? I don’t want to show up any of the good fighters, that’ll never get us what we want.”

“Pick an incel to fight,” Ymir exclaims. “Just get out there! You have to demonstrate your extreme physical prowess so that Levi will want you in the club!”

“You know I’m not actually going to join this club, right? I was just bored tonight.”

Ymir kicks him in the back of knees. “Go!”

She’s smirking to herself in the bleachers (this idiotic plan might actually work after all) as Reiner struts onto the mat, stretching out his arms and cracking his neck. The skinny guys in the corner look absolutely infuriated, and she’s hoping that one of them will get way too overconfident and decide to take on Reiner, because he could destroy any of them. That smirk very quickly becomes a frown when a familiar figure appears from the corner of the gym and strides onto the mat.

“Oh, no,” Ymir mutters.

“Oh, no,” Reiner exclaims from the mat. “Wait, I don’t want to fight you.”

Levi cracks his knuckles. “Really? Who were you looking to fight?”

“Uh, no one in particular-“

“You didn’t come here to convince me to sign those papers?”

“I don’t know anyone named Ymir,” Reiner exclaims.

Levi raises an eyebrow.

“He didn’t say my fucking name, you asshole,” Ymir shouts from the bleachers.

“Oh,” Reiner says weakly as Levi approaches him. “Right-"

Ymir may be standing twenty feet away, but she can still see the spit that flies from Reiner’s lips when Levi grabs him by the wrist and flips him upside down onto the mat with a deafening thud that sends shockwaves through the gym. One of the guys in the corner starts running. Legend has it that he has never stopped.

Reiner is still on his back when Ymir bends over him to check his pulse. His eyes flicker, his gaze distant, and it takes a moment before he can focus on her face.

“I’m okay,” he croaks.

She stands upright. “You’ve failed me.”

“In my defense, that man is not human.”

Ymir turns to Levi, who has not even broken a sweat, as he stands there, redoing the wraps on his hands.

“So, you’re insane,” she says.

He doesn’t look up. “I’m not signing off on your papers just because you showed up here tonight.”

“Why not?” Ymir exclaims, throwing out her hands. “There are ten people here, and I’m pretty sure half of them are serial killers. Reiner would be a perfect addition to your club, and maybe then you’d actually have some kind of clout.”

“No,” Reiner whimpers from the mat.

“I don’t need clout,” Levi says, finally looking up. He rolls his head to each side, cracking his neck. “I don’t care if this club has any accolades. I only volunteered to be the advisor so I can beat up these idiots without getting arrested.”

Ymir stares at him. “So, you actually encourage the attendance of the serial killers.”

“They make good punching bags.”

“You’re just furthering the trauma of their young adult lives,” Reiner mutters from the mat. “What should have been a safe outlet to release their anger has become the precipitating factor in their development as tomorrow’s criminal psychopaths.”

Levi finishes tightening his hand wraps. “I also took PSYCH 101, and that doesn’t make either of us a fucking profiler.”

“Come on, man,” Ymir exclaims. “Just sign the papers. They’re perfect. Do you think Historia Reiss would ever let me submit something less than perfect?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Levi says. “Your requests can’t be approved until-“

“Alright,” Ymir yells, clenching her fists. “We get it.”

She considers trying to fight him herself, as he stalks off the mat. Maybe she could launch a surprise attack to convince him that she’s right. She reconsiders half a second later when he kicks a stray medicine ball so hard that it actually goes flying across the room. Holy fuck, this is the guy that Mikasa punched in the face? Is she in an actual fight club?

She turns back to Reiner, who has wearily pulled himself up to his knees.

“I need a new plan,” Ymir hisses. She plants her hands on her hips and huffs. “He’s not gonna do this unless we absolutely force his hand.”

“Plan B,” Reiner exclaims, “we seduce him.”

“No.”

“Plan C,” he says, “we blackmail him.”

Ymir raises an eyebrow. “That was my first idea. Do you have any blackmail material on him?”

“No, but he’s a total asshole. Someone has to know something.”

“That might just mean that he’s an asshole,” Ymir mutters. “Assholes don’t usually give a shit what people think about them.”

Reiner struggles to his feet, red-faced and winded, and takes a deep breath before replying. “He just assaulted a transgender student on campus. That’s blackmail worthy, isn’t it?”

Ymir glances at him. “You want to, what, sue him?”

Reiner considers. “No, I deserved it for coming here. I can’t believe you talked me into this. This was a terrible idea.”

“Yeah, I fucking know,” Ymir grumbles. She sighs. “Alright, come on, the incels are getting antsy without a fight to watch.”

They hobble off the mat, Reiner still wheezing, and head back to the bleachers to grab their bags before making the walk of shame out the door. The club members break out into a cheer suddenly, and Ymir glances over her shoulder to see that another fight is about to begin. Levi’s returned to the mat, and standing opposite him this time is-

“Hold on,” Reiner exclaims, dropping his bag to the floor. “Is that Zeke?”

“What the hell is he doing here?” Ymir says, her brow furrowed. “God, why is he so fucking ripped?”

The fight begins and- holy fuck, it’s an actual fight. They are absolutely going at it, in some weird combination of fighting styles that mostly involves them just trying to kill each other.

"God, I would love to see them murder each other," Ymir mutters.

Reiner rubs his eyes. "My worlds are colliding. I have to get out of here before I learn too much."

"Yeah," Ymir says, but she stays rooted. "Hey, do you think they're fucking on the side?"

"  _Ymir_."

“I’m just saying, you don’t fight someone like that unless you’re fighting for something, you know?” She picks up her backpack. “  _That_ would be some good blackmail material.”

She pauses, her eyes growing wide, and turns to stare at Reiner. “Wait. I have something better.”

 **Text from Ymir  
** question

 **Text from Sasha  
** yes?

 **Text from Ymir  
** what would you say this is the exact nature of levi’s relationship with dr. smith?

 **Text from Sasha  
**???? professional, i guess  
why are you asking me?

 **Text from Ymir  
** everyone knows they’re sleeping together right

 **Text from Sasha  
** we think they’re sleeping together  
i can’t say that definitively

 **Text from Ymir  
** but their lusting is common knowledge?

 **Text from Sasha  
** at least on levi’s part  
did you see the shrine in his office?

 **Text from Ymir  
** i’m  
the what  
never mind, i can’t get off topic right now

 **Text from Sasha  
** what exactly is the topic here?

 **Text from Ymir  
** speaking hypothetically  
if there was evidence of a relationship  
it wouldn’t be surprising?

 **Text from Sasha  
** i mean i wouldn’t be surprised  
but i don’t know how much my opinion matters in this scenario

 **Text from Ymir  
** what about to their superiors?  
would it be believable?  
also would it get them in trouble?

 **Text from Sasha  
** i guess so?  
wait ymir what are you doing???

 **Text from Ymir  
** you can’t prove anything

Reiner peers over her shoulder as she sends that last text. "You just wrote everything down," he says.

Ymir sends an elbow backwards to punch him in the chest, but he catches her arm in his fist, lifting his very hot and very full cup of tea away from her violent reach. That's just as well; she was jerking with her own coffee-holding arm and she would have probably badly burnt both of them had she succeeded. They retreated to the coffee shop after whatever the hell just happened at the fight club, and they're holed up in a booth now, sipping on too much caffeine this late at night as they wait for confirmation from Sasha.

Ymir looks up at him. "You know there's caffeine in tea too, right?"

Reiner takes a sip anyways. "Not if I don't believe that."

"I'm pretty sure that's not how nutrition works, but I'll let you have this one."

Ymir's phone buzzes with a series of texts: a run of panicked excuses from Sasha who insists that she will not do this dirty deed for them, and then ten seconds later texts Ymir that she has just opened Photoshop and is getting to work on their blackmail right now.

"I'm so glad she's taking graphic design," Ymir says with a wistful smile. She sets her phone down on the table and settles back into the booth. "I don't even know how to crop a picture."

Reiner raises his eyebrows as he sets his tea down. "You can barely start a computer."

"That's what makes this plan so believable," Ymir says. "No one could possibly think that  _I'm_ responsible for a manipulated photo of Levi and Dr. Smith engaged in an extremely hot sexual position."

"This idea is even worst than the first one."

"This  _was_  my first idea," Ymir insists. She takes a sip of her coffee- after this weird night, she has treated herself to something extremely full of sugar, and fuck if it isn't the best thing she's ever had. She can feel her teeth rotting from the copious amount of whipped cream on top. "Look, I'm running out of time and this is my last option. Levi's not gonna do anything unless we can force his hand, so if we say we have evidence of an unprofessional relationship in the workplace, he'll give us what we want."

"Counterpoint," Reiner offers, twisting sideways in his chair to throw his feet up on the booth. "He reports us for trying to blackmail a school official."

"Counter-counterpoint," Ymir exclaims, "he is a graduate student and needs this job to survive. He can't let those photos get out, even if they're not real."

Reiner frowns. "I don't know if I want any part of this. I'm still a good person."

"Implying that I've ever been a good person? I was born this way, baby."  She takes a long drink of her coffee (can she even call it coffee if it's 70% chocolate syrup?), then glances across the table at Reiner. "So, we had the photoshoot today."

Reiner rubs his forehead. "I know I'm usually the one initiating serious conversations, but I just got flipped upside down by a man half my size, so I don't know if I'm in the mood right now."

He flexes his wrist. "Levi might have broken my hand."

"Well, the photoshoot was pretty much a waste of my time," Ymir sighs. "The photographer made me pose with Zeke, like, twenty different ways, and I had to listen to him fucking breathe up close. I feel like I should have gained respect for him watching him fight Levi, but honestly I think I just hate both of them even more now."

"He's really the worst," Reiner mutters.

Ymir glances at him. "Bertholdt told me that he nominated you to Dean McVey."

"For the trans diversity angle?" Reiner asks, reaching for his cup of tea again. "Yeah, I don't think he did it maliciously, but he should have gotten the hell out of there when the dean asked him if he knew of any  _non-traditional students_."

Ymir wrinkles her nose. "Gross, did he really say it like that? How the hell is he the dean?"

Reiner raises his cup in a toast. "That's institutional tokenism for you."

Her phone buzzes again, and when she unlocks the screen, she is pleased to report that there is an email from Sasha sitting in her inbox with an attachment titled "i-can't-believe-you-made-me-do-this.png." Sure enough, when she opens the file, it's exactly what she requested: a beautifully manipulated image of Levi and Dr. Smith's faces onto what is definitely a still from a gay porn film. She saves it to her phone, then shows it to Reiner.

"Oh my God," he exclaims, nearly choking on a mouthful of tea. "Oh my God, we cannot do this, Ymir."

"Do you think he'll like it?"

Reiner takes the phone from her and gives the photo one long look before shoving it back across the table. "Did she have to use a picture where they have their dicks out?"

"She was just following my instructions," Ymir says. She stares at the photo with pride. "I should pay Sasha for her work, right? I mean, this is true art."

"You should delete it," Reiner mutters. He leans over her shoulder to get one last look. "God, she even photoshopped cum onto their faces."

Reiner's horror and disbelief is the same sentiment that Levi utters when he walks into his office on Friday morning to find them halfway through the process of covering the room wall-to-wall in naked photos.

"The cum makes it convincing," Ymir exclaims. She makes direct eye contact with him as she smacks one last picture onto the wall.

Reiner drops the roll of tape in his hands. "I had no part in this."

Levi glares at them, then steps into the office and drops down into his desk chair, as if that too is not covered in nude photos. He lifts one from the wall behind him, the tape ripping with a sick sound, and he examines it for a moment before glancing up at Ymir again.

"This is terrible," he says. "Who did this, a fifth grader?"

"Excuse you," Ymir exclaims. "That's a completely real photograph."

He flips the paper around and shoves it in her face. Ymir has done a lot of staring at this photo in the last several hours, and it just gets better every time. Sasha's handiwork came with the disclaimer that she's more of a traditional artist, so, no, maybe the manipulation wouldn't pass a real investigation. But she did a pretty good job for an amateur. In the end, the faces are identifiable, and that's what matters.

"No one would ever believe that these are real," Levi says, setting the photo down on his desk.

"According to the university code of conduct," Ymir says, "all that's required is a reasonable doubt. I mean, some of those administrators are old as fuck. Do you think they even know what Photoshop is?"

"That's not how a reasonable doubt works," Levi says.

"You'd definitely be fired if these got out," Ymir exclaims. "That's all I'm saying."

He picks the photo up again, grimacing at it. God, he's really gotta look at it that long, doesn't he? Next to Ymir, Reiner shifts on his feet, and she jerks an elbow into his side to keep him from fidgeting.

"It's actually something stupid like three-fifths of a reasonable doubt," Levi says with a sigh, setting the photo down again. "Anyways, I hate this job. I was thinking about quitting."

Ymir pauses. "Oh."

He glowers at her. "Didn't think of that, did you?"

"Well, you still wouldn't want these to get out, would you?" she exclaims. "They might ruin your job prospects in- what are you studying? Archaeology?"

Levi crosses his arms. "Joke's on you- I don't have any job prospects."

"You would never quit this job," Reiner says suddenly.

Levi's gaze shifts to him.

"You wouldn't leave this office," Reiner says. "You hate this job, but you stay here for a reason. You couldn't stand to be apart from him. Even if it's not true that you two are together, we all know how much you wish it was."

Levi stares at him.

"And that's what makes this believable," he continues. "The photos may not be real, but the desire is, and I'm willing to bet it's something that your superiors have already caught onto.

"So, take it or leave it," Reiner finishes. "But if you ignore this, then you won't be leaving just this job. You'll be leaving him, too."

The silence that follows goes on for absolutely far too long, and Ymir does not move for fear of being pounced on. She watches Reiner out of the corner of her eye, then glances at Levi, then back, and then back again. Their stares are locked onto each other for so long that her legs begin to go numb.

Finally, Levi looks away. He grabs the nearest photo and crushes it in his fist, then turns back to Ymir.

"Bring your requests back this afternoon," he says.

Ymir lunges down and grabs the stack of files at her feet. "I have them right here," she exclaims, bursting upright again, and she drops them onto his desk with a satisfying thud.

He glowers. "Fine. I'll sign them."

"Yeah, you will!"

"Take these fucking pictures down while I'm at it."

She glances around. "Really? I kind of like them..."

Reiner nods. "Yeah, this room was really missing something, but now it's like it's all come together."

Levi snaps a pen in his hand. "Take them down."

"Christ," Ymir exclaims, jerking away from the desk. "Alright, fine, just make sure you sign all the damn papers. I don't want any of them to go unread!"

He sighs. "I wouldn't dream of it."

In the end, their mission is a success- although it takes Levi a full hour to sign the request forms because he takes his sweet time glaring at Ymir in between papers. But she gets everything done before the weekend, and when she meets with Historia on Sunday, she feels pretty accomplished.

"Hey, Historia," Ymir says when she walks into the coffee shop, and then she realizes, oh god, Historia is wearing a bright red blazer a la Heather Chandler, Ymir's gay heart can't handle this, what the hell does Historia think she's doing-

"Hey," Historia says.

Ymir gasps for air. "...sup."

She drops her bag off at the table and takes a breather to order her drink- she can do this, she just has to be strong- before returning and settling in to review the progress of Games planning.

"Thanks for getting those request forms signed, by the way," Historia says as she sets her planning binder on the table. "I know the Greek Life office can be a pain in the ass, so I'm actually a little amazed that you managed to get everything through before the weekend."

"Well, I don't take no for an answer," Ymir says. "It helps that I blackmailed Levi with a photoshopped picture of him in a compromising position."

Historia looks up. "You did what?"

Ymir reaches a hand into her bag. "Do you want to see it?"

Historia takes the photograph from her, brow furrowed, and then her face goes completely blank when she sees the picture. She stares at it for a few seconds before muttering, "Holy shit."

"I know," Ymir exclaims. "Isn't it great?"

She pauses. "I mean, I'm not gonna get us in trouble or anything, am I?"

"Nah," Historia says without taking her eyes off the photo. "You're totally right about these two. Although I think Dr. Smith is the one who would get fired if this turned out to be true, but we all know that Levi would resign in protest if that happened."

She blinks and shakes her head, handing the photo back to Ymir.

"We have the edge on him now," she says. "Although he's a total bitch. I would have just physically threatened him."

She says that so casually, like Levi is not capable of tearing a human in half with his bare hands. Then again, Historia is terrifying. Ymir would do anything if Historia threatened her. Ymir would do anything if Historia just asked nicely.

"I have no physicality to threaten someone with," Ymir says. She tucks the photo back into her bag (carefully, so the blackmail can live to see another day). "We tried going to his fight club first, but he basically murdered my friend, so, like, this was the next best bet."

"Well, I'm glad it worked," Historia says. "Last year, it took forever to get all of these requests approved. The president before me had plenty of horror stories to share. Hopefully, we can get ahead of schedule now that this is done."

She opens her binder (it's the most enormous binder Ymir has ever seen, by the way, like it's absolutely massive, basically the size of all the world's dictionaries combined, and she carries it effortlessly in her shoulder bag) and flips through a couple of pages until she comes to a series of calendars.

"So, once the Student Life office approves those requests," Historia says, tapping the page with her pen, "then we'll have all of our reservations booked and we can get started on scheduling the events. It'll have to be flexible until we have all the teams signed up, but that should put us in a good place for when sign-ups open after spring break."

"Do some teams not sign up?" Ymir asks, leaning forward to set her elbows on the table. "I thought the Greek Games was, like, the biggest thing on campus. Even  _I_ knew about it before I joined Beta."

"Everyone  _tries_ to sign up," Historia sighs. "Not everyone is conscious of the deadline."

"Oh, right. Fraternities."

"We don't accept sign-ups after the deadline," she says, flipping past a chunk of pages in the binder. "That has always been a hard and fast rule of the Greek Games. We have to start making the tournament rosters as soon as we have the teams, so there's no room for latecomers."

"Hardass," Ymir says. "I like it."

"I have to be," Historia mutters. "Otherwise, people will think they can get away with anything."

She sits back in her chair to push her hair back, pulling it through her hair before she lets it fall over her shoulders, then returns to the binder.

"So, we'll schedule each event," she continues, reading from the paper,  "and then we'll start our marketing campaign, so we can get teams signed up as soon as possible. We'll need to talk to every chapter on campus, so I might need you to go with me to some chapter meetings. Once we've done that, we can start working on the logistics of renting equipment and sound systems and so on, and then we'll have to get liability waivers from everyone a few weeks before the event..."

She stops and glances up at Ymir. "Not having second thoughts, are you?"

Ymir takes a sip of her coffee. "On the contrary, I love chasing after people to get their mandatory liability waivers."

"Good, because that's what you'll be doing in April."

"Terrific."

"I really appreciate you doing this, by the way," Historia says, looking at Ymir. "I'm working on a lot of this stuff with my VP of Public Relations, since the whole thing is technically her wheelhouse."

She leans back in her chair. "She's working really hard, don't get me wrong. But she's just a sophomore, so she's never had a position like this before and she's still learning. And the fraternity council is useless, as usual, and you know now what working with Levi is like, so..."

She trails of with a sigh, then smiles at Ymir. "It's nice to have someone reliable."

"I needed something to do with my free time," Ymir says. "This sounded productive."

"And something you can put on your resume," Historia adds, smirking. "You can add event planning to your list of skills."

"Wow, I have  _one_ skill now."

"It's better than none," she says. She goes back to the binder for a moment, then glances up again. "What's it like to have free time?"

"It's very weird," Ymir says. She leans back in her seat with her coffee, stirring with the straw. "This is the least busy I've been since I was in high school."

"Huh," Historia says. "You know, I had a pretty stress-free time last year. Something about being a sophomore was easy for me."

"Really?" Ymir exclaims, raising one eyebrow. "Sophomore year was the worst. I mean, last semester I literally almost failed out of school-"

"What?"

"-but sophomore year was hell," Ymir says. "I just had, like, the worst classes. I was taking keyboarding and, ugh, I was still in chamber then. I forgot how terrible that was."

"I don't know many music students," Historia admits, "but it sounds like every semester is hell for you guys."

"I thought the same would go for computer science majors," Ymir says.

"Well, yeah, that's true," Historia says, folding a page in the binder to mark her place. She reaches for her drink and swirls it around a few times before taking a sip. "I guess last year was alright because I was still taking gen eds. I got to take fun classes, like graphic design. Stuff I normally wouldn't get to do."

"Oh, my big's taking that right now. She's the one who photoshopped that picture for me."

Historia raises an eyebrow. "I was never that good."

"She's an art major," Ymir explains. She frowns. "Although I don't know how much that actually contributes. I'm beginning to suspect that she's done this before."

Historia smiles before going back to her binder. "I'll send you a copy of this schedule and add you to the Panhellenic Google calendar too, so you can see everything that's happening. For now, or at least until spring break, I'll just need your help planning the different events and making a list of all the equipment we need to rent."

She closes the binder and leans back in her chair with a sigh. "Not today, though. I've got chapter in half an hour and then I'm taking a break from Greek stuff for the rest of the night."

"Smart," Ymir agrees, immediately realizing that she, too, has chapter in half an hour, and she forgot to bring her Beta pin with her, so she'll have to dash back to her dorm room or she won't be allowed into the meeting. Okay, she'll be allowed inside. But she'll be given disappointed looks, probably from Mikasa and Sasha. Hedy will probably high-five her. It turns out that sorority presidents are super fucking chill once their terms have ended.

She's internally moaning about having to run through the snow when Historia cocks her head to the side and gives Ymir a quiet glance for a moment before speaking.

"Can I ask you something?" Historia says.

Ymir tries to look innocent. "Uh, okay. Shoot."

"Why'd you really join a sorority?"

Ymir blinks. "Well- I don't know. Why'd you join a sorority?"

"I think we've already been over that," Historia says, scooting upright in her seat. "I told you during recruitment."

"Yeah, but was that the truth?"

"Of course it was."

"The whole truth and nothing but the truth?"

Historia pauses for a moment before smirking. "Okay, fine, maybe it was a little sugar-coated."

"Ha," Ymir exclaims. "I knew it."

"But I didn't lie to you," Historia says, clutching her drink between her hands. "It can be tempting to sweet talk PNMs during recruitment, especially if you really like someone and want them to join. But we try to be as honest as we can, because at the end of the day, it's not helpful to offer someone something they can't have."

"So, sugar-coating isn't lying?"

"I wouldn't say so," Historia says. She takes a sip of her coffee, then adds, "As long as the spirit of the truth remains."

Ymir considers that.

"I did mean everything I told you," Historia continues. "I don't even remember what I said, word for word, but I wasn't trying to make Zeta seem like something that it isn't. It's just, I was talking to strangers then. I wasn't going to say every single thing about me."

"Well, then tell me what you left out," Ymir says, although what she wants to say is  _tell me every single thing about you_.

"You first," Historia says.

"Huh?"

"I asked first, so I get an answer first. Why'd you really join a sorority?"

"Well, I mean, I-"

Ymir cuts herself off, staring back into Historia's earnest gaze. She pauses for a second, a lump in her throat; then she pushes past it and moves on.

"I guess I was looking for friends," Ymir says. "I guess, when it comes down to it, that's what it was about. I don't remember what I told you at the time, but I'm sure I said some crap about wanting to be a part of something greater than myself or whatever.

"And I think I did find that in Beta," Ymir continues, "but it wasn't until after I joined that I knew it was there, you know? Like, we can talk all day about leadership and philanthropy and all that jazz, but it seems to me like the reason anyone really joins a sorority is to belong somewhere."

Historia nods, her eyebrows raised. "You know how to schmooze."

"I'm still in the music school, after all."

"Are you leaving anything out?" Historia asks.

Ymir feels a twinge in her lips. "Maybe a few details."

"I guess that's all I can ask for," Historia says. She leans back in her chair, holding her coffee cup closely against her chest. "Back then, I could tell that your interest in getting to know me was genuine, but- I don't know. It didn't seem like that really extended to actually joining a sorority."

"You still think I'm not the type to join a sorority?"

"You don't think that?" Historia asks.

"No, I absolutely think that. I literally never fathomed it. Sometimes I forget that I'm in a sorority."

"So you see what I mean."

"Alright," Ymir says, leaning forward. "Now, you."

Historia purses her lips. "It's a lot like you said. I wanted somewhere to belong."

She pauses for a moment, and Ymir raises her eyebrows.

"I'm thinking," Historia exclaims before Ymir can say anything. "It's hard to articulate properly, now that I've been in Zeta for a while. Sometimes I don't remember what it was like before I joined."

"You said that your sister was a Zeta here too," Ymir offers.

Historia glances at her across the table. "She was."

"Did you join because of her, or...?"

She shakes her head. "No. I never thought I would end up in the same chapter as her. We were really close when we were young, but we grew apart when we got older and then she went away to college. We never really talked while she was away from home, so when I ended up coming to the same school, I thought it would still be like that.

"We were closer after I joined Zeta," Historia continues. "But, now that I think about it, part of the reason that I did want to join a sorority was to have a family here. House Reiss is a proper disaster, and I'd never really had close friends in high school. I was just looking for somewhere to belong, like you said. Somewhere that would accept me for who I am and be there for me when shit got thought."

She glances out the window, then down to her coffee cup. "It's weird that my Zeta family ended up including my sister. We're not that close anymore."

She clears her throat and sits upright, setting her coffee down on the table. "But it's been good, even with the ups and downs. I don't know if I would have made it through college without Zeta. I don't like to get sappy about my sorority, but it's  _true_. They changed my life."

"You should say it then," Ymir says. "There are worse things to be embarrassed about."

Historia glances up at her. "I could say the same to you, Ymir."

Ymir blinks. "What?"

"You love Beta so much," Historia exclaims. "You're allowed to show it."

"What?" Ymir exclaims, furrowing her brow. "I'm being dragged around campus all the time in my jersey. I'm repping, like, every fucking day."

"That's what I mean though," Historia says. "That's exactly what I'm talking about."

"Huh?"

"Ymir," Historia insists, leaning forward. "You don't have to be cynical or embarrassed just because you like being in a sorority. It's okay to like things, even just because they're fun."

Ymir stares at her.

"I have taken so much shit over the years," Historia says. "Sometimes for being a computer science major, because people think I'm trying to get my Mrs degree or something- whatever, computer science was invented by women."

She brushes her hair back over her shoulders. "Most of the grief that people give me is for being in a sorority, or going out to parties with my friends, or wearing lingerie as clothes on Halloween."

"Those are all fun things," Ymir says.

"Exactly," Historia exclaims. "And we're allowed to like doing them."

Ymir pauses for a moment, staring at her in silence. Then she sighs and says, "I have a lot of fucking fun in Beta. I just don't want people to think that I pay for my friends or whatever."

"Let's be real," Historia says. "That's kind of the point of a sorority."

"I mean, kind of," Ymir exclaims. "But that's not  _the_  point, is it? I worked my ass off at that stupid summer camp, and I get to spend my money on whatever I want. Did I think I'd be spending it all on a sorority, of all things? No, but you know what, I'm glad I did."

"Good," Historia exclaims before glancing down at her phone. "Speaking of which, I think we're both going to be late for our chapter meetings."

"Shit," Ymir hisses, instinctively slapping a hand to her chest. "I forgot my pin."

Historia nods to the blazer hanging on the back of Ymir's chair, as she shoves the huge Greek Games binder back into her shoulder bag. "Button it up. No one will know."

Ymir still gets a dirty look from Mikasa (no one can fool that woman; plus, Ymir is willing to bet that Annie has tried every trick in the book to hide the fact that she forgot her pin), but she manages to make it through the entire chapter meeting without a single comment about her missing pin. Sasha drags her out to a big/little dinner afterwards, and while they browse the menus of a new pizza place, Ymir comes to a realization.

"Is it possible to love someone?" she exclaims, dropping her menu onto the table.

Sasha furrows her brow. "...yes?"

"I mean," Ymir says, pushing a hand back through her hair. "Is it possible to, like, love someone without telling them but still letting them know how amazing they are and how much they've done for you, even though you barely know them and you're more like coworkers than actual friends?"

Sasha stares at her. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Ymir snatches up her menu and hides behind it. "Never mind. Forget that I said anything."


	19. toss and turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously on soul sisters: ymir blackmailed, schemed, and fell in love. this week: ymir's impending future, sasha's questionable choices in men, and an unexpected kiss.

The week before spring break begins with an ambush.

Ymir wakes refreshed on Monday morning after going to sleep early for once and manages to not absolutely humiliate herself in yoga class. Historia's not there that day, so the only people who witness this amazing accomplishment are herself, the instructor, and the girl in the front row who spends most of the class trying to hold in a fart. (She does not succeed.)

She doesn't have class until the afternoon, so there's enough time for her to grab a quick smoothie and head to Saber to practice for a bit. The symphony orchestra leaves for their annual spring break tour on Friday night, hitting all the major concert halls in the region: you know, churches and high schools and old people's homes. It's not exactly the most thrilling performance tour in the world, but it is the only one that Ymir has ever been on and she's still riding high after her successful recital last semester, so she doesn't mind putting in a little practice outside of rehearsals if it'll keep Dr. Mikkelsen off her ass.

It does not, apparently.

"Ymir," Dr. Mikkelsen barks as she waltzes through the doors of Saber Hall.

Ymir jumps, her smoothie nearly flying out of her hand, and stops in the doorway, swearing. A traffic jam of sophomores bunch up behind her, each of them sweating at the sight of Dr. Mikkelsen.

"Jesus," Ymir exclaims, clutching a hand to her chest. "Dr. M, don't do me like that."

He stares at her over his glasses, eyes narrowed. "What's your last name? Why isn't it on my roster?"

"What even is a last name?" Ymir asks as the sophomores scurry into the building. "Why even have one?"

He says nothing to that, just gives her a look and then starts down the hallway, a silent cue for her to follow. Great! That's exactly what she wanted to do today! She trots behind him, obnoxiously sucking on her smoothie until they reach his office for what is apparently an impromptu advising session. Once inside, Dr. Mikkelsen settles down at his desk and turns to face her, stoic as always.

"Let's talk about your future."

Ymir sits down with her backpack still on, her bassoon case slowly sliding off her arm. "Let's not."

"I believe you haven't yet picked an audition piece for the summer tour," he says. "What are you considering?"

"Uh..."

"Never mind," he says. He reaches for a pen and begins making tiny marks in his notes. "Take some time to think about it. Choose a piece that resonates with you, as a musician and a person."

He finishes his chicken scratches. "Have it within twenty-four hours."

"You want me to know who I am within the next day?" Ymir exclaims, leaning forward to set her smoothie down on the desk. He glares up at her sharply, and she reconsiders. "I mean, I can fucking try."

"Do your fucking best," Dr. Mikkelsen says, and Ymir knows, deep down within herself, that he is not fucking around.

"Is that why you abducted me?" Ymir asks, holding her smoothie cup against her knee. "You could have, like, sent me an email."

"That's not all."

"Oh, righteous, you wanna know about the magazine photoshoot? Well, let me tell you, sir-"

"No," he says, clasping his hands together. "I want to ask what you're doing with the rest of you life."

"Being a slave to the capitalist machine," Ymir says. "If I had to guess."

"That's not special," Dr. Mikkelsen says. "We're all slaves to the capitalist machine."

"Boy, I wish I had not come in here," she mutters to herself. She sits upright, slinging her backpack off her shoulders. "I haven't thought about it that much, because, I mean, I'm only a junior, so I've got some time left."

"You're a senior starting today. Time is running out."

Oh, god, this is way too existential.

He levels her with his gaze. "Have you considered a graduate degree?"

Ymir barely contains the scoff that bursts from inside her. She does not contain it at all, actually, and she spends a good ten seconds guffawing at the mere idea of graduate school before Dr. Mikkelsen's intense gaze reaches the deepest part of her soul and she realizes that, oh god, he's being serious.

"Sure," Ymir wheezes. "Why not?"

"Last year, I would have told you that you are not good enough to get into a graduate program."

"Noice."

"But your junior recital was exceptional, especially considering how quickly you were able to turn yourself around, and you've been working hard this semester. What you lack, so far, is practical experience."

"Sooo," Ymir says, raising her eyebrows. "Like, the summer tour, for example."

"For example," Dr. Mikkelsen repeats. "You have plenty of experience with performance, with your recital and the past spring break tours, but in order to be admitted into a professional program, you'll need the summer tour credit on your resume. Four weeks playing across Europe- that's a tour."

That certainly is a tour, but Ymir didn't make the cut last year. And the year before that, she wasn't even considered for an audition. Dr. Mikkelsen seems to have a lot of faith in the fact that she could make it if she tried, but there's no telling if she'll be able to keep up with the rest of the orchestra. She heard horror stories from Reiner and Bertholdt about last summer: bleeding fingers and paralyzing carpal tunnel and so on. That's a stamina that she doesn't know if she has.

"In addition," Dr. Mikkelsen says, leaning back in his chair, "I just auditioned a prospective bassoon player. I'm admitting her for the fall, so if she accepts, you'll have someone to mentor next year. That would benefit you, considering you've played alone as long as you've been at this school."

"Another bassoon?" Ymir huffs. She sucks down a gulp of her smoothie for punctuation, and the creases in Dr. Mikkelsen's forehead multiply exponentially at the annoying sound. "I don't know if I approve of that."

"Too bad. You should ask Reiner to put you in touch with her once she receives her offer. She's his cousin."

Ymir's mind whirls. She met Reiner's (bratty) cousin when she visited campus last year for a prospective students clinic. That was the same unfortunate day that Ymir met Reiner's (evil) mother for the first, and hopefully last, time. He's got, uh, quite the family.

"Gabi?!" Ymir exclaims, sputtering. "But she plays the cello."

Dr. Mikkelsen flips through his notepad. "She found out that we were offering scholarships for bassoon players and she picked it up. She shows promise."

"She picked it up!?" Ymir exclaims. "She's, like, sixteen!"

"She's a sixteen-year-old musical prodigy," he answers without looking up. "I'd suggest that you keep up your hard work, or you'll be playing second chair to a teenager during your senior year."

"Tits," Ymir swears, slumping down in her chair.

"In summary," Dr. Mikkelsen says, a gentle signal that she should get the fuck out of his office, "you need to find an audition piece immediately. Make sure it's a good one."

Ymir comes out of that meeting knowing two things:

  1. nothing in her current repertoire will be good enough for Dr. Mikkelsen;
  2. she's going to kill Reiner for not telling her about this.



Practice be damned, she guesses, because now she's got to use her free morning searching for the world's best audition piece in the sheet music archives. She chugs the rest of her smoothie, then heads inside the archives to find the piece of music that will save her life.

She also texts Reiner to bring her some food and an apology.

"So," Reiner asks when he finds her in the bassoon section. "Gabi got in?"

Ymir is knee-deep in sheet music folders and with nothing to show for it yet. Food is (definitely) forbidden in Saber and (especially) in the archives, but so is sleeping under the keyboards and no one has found out about that yet, so she snatches the paper bag that Reiner hands her and slumps onto the floor, folders splayed on the ground around her.

"Of course, she got in," Ymir exclaims, digging into the bag for her bagel. "You didn't tell me your cousin was fucking Mozart."

"She's good at picking things up," Reiner says. He wades through the stack of folders to find a place on the floor, and he sits down with his back against a cabinet to unwrap his bagel. "I don't think you actually have anything to worry about. She's been playing the cello for a long time. She'll be hard-pressed to actually give it up just for a scholarship."

"I fucking hope so," Ymir mutters. "The only thing I have going for me at this school is that no one can compare me to the other bassoons."

"Her parents will never let her come to school here anyways," Reiner adds. "It's too far."

Ymir raises an eyebrow at him. "You came to school here."

"She's sixteen," Reiner says. "And her parents are kind of decent. I hated my mom and was trying to get as far away as possible."

He pauses, bagel in hand.

"I don't hate my mom," he says.

"You should fucking hate her," Ymir mutters. There's a lot in that relationship that she's not ready to unpack with him, but Ymir knows enough about Reiner's Catholic guilt and musical prodigy childhood and gender dysphoria and mental illness and coming out and leaving home and- yeah, Karina Braun is a cunt.

"Anyways," she continues, swallowing a bite of her bagel. "I didn't invite you here to talk about personal stuff. Dr. Mikkelsen wants my audition piece by tomorrow, and I can't find anything good. You're much better at this shit than me."

He leans over and shuffles through the folders she's already looked at. "You could pick something more contemporary, since you are, you know, the only bassoon. He can only compare you against yourself."

"I need something I can learn fast," Ymir exclaims, pulling out her phone to check her calendar. "Auditions are, like- fuck, that soon!? Dude, I only have a few weeks to learn this shit."

She slumps back against the wall, groaning. "I'll just play something I already know."

"No," Reiner exclaims. "That's what you did last year."

"Okay, but I feel like my audition would go marginally better if I didn't show up cross-faded."

Reiner shakes his head. "I guarantee Dr. Mikkelsen remembers the piece you played last year. If you use it again, it's going to trigger a flashback and he'll remember how drunk you were."

Ymir grimaces. "God. Don't fucking remind me."

"You're the one who brought it up," he mutters, reaching for a folder on the shelf.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, each of them thumbing through books to search for viable options. Ymir finishes her bagel and slides further down onto the floor until she's nearly prone, just her head propped up against the wall, mindlessly poring through sheet music. She thinks she's found the right direction in something baroque, so she's flipping pages in Fasch and Vivaldi when Reiner clears his throat.

"Speaking of personal stuff," he says, and Ymir glances up with a glare.

"We are specifically not talking about personal stuff."

"I feel like you deserve an update on me and Bertholdt, since you basically have a tantrum every time I don't tell you everything."  

Alright... that's fair.

"It better be a good update," Ymir grumbles. "I don't wanna hear anything else about this until you guys have stopped with your stupid fake break-up."

"Well."

She slams the sheet music book down in her lap. "Reiner."

"The break is almost over," Reiner exclaims, holding up a hand to cut her off. "We've agreed on that much."

"Okay, fine, so what's the update then?"

"Well, I haven't told him this yet-"

"Of course, you haven't."

"So I can't know for sure how things are going to work out," he continues, ignoring her. "But our time apart has helped me make up my mind. If I had doubts before, they're gone. I want to be together."

"God, finally," Ymir exclaims, sitting upright. She drops her sheet music folders onto the floor and huffs. "I've been waiting so long for one of you to just say that."

"I think I knew it," Reiner says. "It was just hard to admit, with everything that's going on. But I realized it the other day, actually, when we were doing all that Greek Games stuff-"

"When we were blackmailing Levi with porn?"

"Yeah," Reiner says. "That's how I knew the blackmail would work, because I knew that he would never do anything to separate himself from the man he loves. And neither should I."

Ymir stares at him. "Are you serious right now?"

"What?"

"That's what made you realize?!" she screeches.

"I knew it in my heart all along," Reiner yells back. "I just needed a way to see it!"

"Oh my god," Ymir mutters. She pinches her brow between her fingers, squeezing her eyes shut. "Can you please just tell Bertholdt all of this so my life can go back to normal?"

When he doesn't immediately respond to that, Ymir glares up at him.

"We're going to talk about spring break," he says. "We don't want to make things weird on the tour."

"Things are already weird, in case you hadn't noticed-"

"I don't want things to get weirder. Five days on tour together is a long time, and if he has something different to say-"

"I'll kill him."

"-then it'd be better to talk about it when we get back."

Ymir sighs. "Fine, but you know what you just said, right? Five days on tour together is a long time, and you guys share a room and everything. Not much room for a break there, bud."

"We're going to focus on music," Reiner says. "And try to enjoy ourselves a little. You and everyone else will be there too, and it's been so long since any of us have gotten to relax and have some fun."

He pauses, frowning. "Well, maybe not you. You don't do anything these days."

"I do things!" Ymir exclaims. "We just blackmailed a school official together!"

"Okay, then stop complaining about never having homework. Everyone is annoyed with you."

"Who exactly is everyone?"  

Reiner returns to a book of sheet music, shaking his head. "If you let Pieck put you in the group chat, you'd know."  

"Do you guys talk about me in the group chat?!"

"Oh, that reminds me," he says without glancing up. "We're going on an alcohol run on Thursday night, so we can be prepared. Do you want to go with me as moral support so I don't say yes when Pieck asks if she can buy twenty bottles of tequila?"

"Damn," Ymir mutters to herself, head falling back against the wall. "I would actually love to watch you stand up to that crazy bitch."

She sighs. "Unfortunately, I can't. I have a Beta event."

"On the last night before spring break?"

"Yeah, it's our Founders' Day or whatever," she says, idly reaching for another sheet music book. "Apparently the actual Founders' Day is during spring break, which is a) a bummer, but b) proof that the founders of Beta were wild as hell."

"Oooh, fun," Reiner exclaims.

Ymir glares at him. "No, it isn't. We're doing a bunch of team-building crap at the house and then I have to dress up- like, actually, dress up, like heels and shit kind of dress up- because we're having a formal dinner."

She holds back tears. "And there won't even be wine."

The formal dinner, actually, is not Ymir's biggest fear. Yes, she has to wear heels and a blazer, and she has to sit at the table with her ankles crossed, and she has to schmooze with alumni so that they'll keep donating to the chapter, but in the end, it's free food. And it's real free food- not just appetizers and finger nibblins. Founders' Day is the biggest day of the year and Ymir had given her approval to Mikasa on the menu a few weeks earlier: hors d'oeuvres, two courses at the table, and dessert. Ymir will truly be living it up on Thursday night, especially considering her sustenance while on the symphonic tour will consist of IHOP specials and hotel vending machines.

It's the team-building crap that's gonna get her.

Last fall, she spent endless hours having stilted conversations with each of the sorority houses, being asked about her hopes and dreams and greatest fears. For Ymir, it was pure torture, and even though she loves Beta, if she had known all of that drama was going to end, she might not have endured it at all. Small talk is a nightmare, and what's even worse is being given meaningless conversation prompts as a way to force a shared group experience of friendship and fulfillment.

(Now that she says that, she realizes that's kind of all a sorority is. But it's usually more subtle, so at least she doesn't know that she's being forced to make friends and build memories.)

The Beta house is packed that Thursday afternoon. Most of the sisters haven't dressed for the dinner yet and are lounging around the common room in sweatpants and tee-shirts, their formal clothes stored upstairs in someone's borrowed closet. Ymir has the great misfortune of wearing her stiff black dress to both events, since she'd come late from the final tour rehearsal and wasn't sure she'd have time to change. She sneaks in during the middle of a big group exercise (it's not inconspicuous at all; all of the furniture has been pushed against the walls and the sisters are sitting in a giant circle, rolling a ball of yarn back and forth as make tearful comments about the connections that they share) and Sasha gives her a big thumbs-up and wink from across the room.

 **Text from Sasha  
** i've never seen you so dressed up!

 **Text from Ymir  
** it's founders day, bitch  
and stop texting during the team-building  
you're a bad influence

 **Text from Sasha  
** :(

Luckily, Ymir only has to endure an hour of bonding exercises before it's time to get ready for dinner. She's already starving (guess who decided not to each lunch?!), but just when she thinks they're going to be dismissed, Mikasa introduces one last activity.

"There's one more thing we want to do," she says, addressing the room. She gestures to someone in the crowd. "This is a special one for the seniors, so I'm going to have Hedy come up and lead the rest of it."

Ymir is couched in the back of the room with Annie, who, by the way, is pulling off the biggest eyeliner wing Ymir has ever seen, and it's fucking working for her. She leans over as Hedy takes to the front of the room and whispers, "What kind of feel good bullshit are we doing now?"

"You should pay attention to this one," Annie mutters back. "We all have to do it at the sisterhood retreat in April, so you should just go ahead and steal someone's answer now."

"So weird to be back up here," Hedy is saying when Ymir turns back to the front of the room. "Well, hi again, everyone."

"Hi, Hedy," they chorus.

She takes the fishbowl that Mikasa hands her and pulls out a slip of paper. "Most of you are probably familiar with this activity, because it's something we do every year, but I'll explain for the benefit of newest sisters.

"This activity is all about reflection," she continues. "And this time, it's only for the seniors. It's our last Founders' Day as active members, so we should take the time to reflect on what this sisterhood has done for us during our college years."

She drops the paper back into the bowl and begins passing it around to the seniors, who each dutifully take a slip.

"Take a moment to think about what this sisterhood means to you," Hedy says, "and write it down. When we're done, the papers will go back into the bowl and the other sisters will take turns reading our responses. Please feel free to cry."

The room falls into busy silence for a few minutes as the seniors in the room begin scribbling on their slips of paper. The minutes pass- Ymir's stomach growls- and when everyone is finished, the papers go back into the bowl as promised, and then it's passed around again, the anonymous messages distributed to the lowerclassmen to read out loud. Ymir nearly avoids getting handed the bowl, with just one slip of paper left, but then Annie veers out of the way and shoves it towards her.

"Great," Hedy says when the bowl makes its way back to the front of the room. She scans the audience. "Ymir, let's start with you."

"I love public reading," Ymir mutters, then glances down at her paper. "'Sisterhood is a family: a place where I can feel safe, supported, and loved.'"

She looks to Annie, who nods. "That's a pretty good one. Memorize it."

Mercifully, none of the responses are too long. Sisterhood is lifelong friendship, sisterhood is a bond, sisterhood is knowing you will always have someone there to support you. When they've finished reading all of the notes, the attention turns back to Hedy, who is... crying? Maybe Ymir will understand one day, when she's a senior. Oh god, she doesn't want to think about her future anymore.

"It seems like we're all thinking the same thing," Hedy says. She wipes her eyes, though her voice betrays no emotion. "Being part of this sisterhood being means part of a family. It's about creating a support system, being able to help your fellow sisters, and knowing when you need their help too. It's about a bond that lasts a lifetime."

She casts a tearful gaze over the seniors in the room. "And I know that our bond will be forever, no matter where our lives take us after this."

There's more to the sisterhood speech, but most of the room bursts into tears at that point and the activity hour officially ends with a senior group hug.

Ymir turns to Annie. "That was touching. Is Mikasa gonna get up there and do that next year?"

Annie snorts. "I'd love to see her try."

The sisters are dismissed to get ready for dinner, and there's a mad rush to get upstairs, the common room emptying out almost instantly. Annie takes it upon herself to just strip and change right there, because that's who she is apparently, and Ymir nods at Sasha, who approaches them from the other side of the room, running a brush through her hair. She's already dressed, the hem of her dress swirling around her knees, but she plops down next to Ymir and pulls out a pocket mirror to finish her makeup.

"There's not gonna be a big long toast at this dinner, is there?" Ymir asks, reaching into her bag. She pulls out the jewelry box containing her Beta badge (she does not wear it walking across campus; she would absolutely lose it and then there would be hell to pay) and struggles to pin it onto her chest.

"Probably," Annie says. "The alumni are really into that. Button me?"

She turns around ("Christ," Ymir exclaims, "why are there, like, eighty fucking buttons on this dress?") and Ymir goes from squinting at her badge to squinting at buttons, all while Sasha sits to the side, smiling to herself as she touches up her deep, red lipstick.

Annie glances over her shoulder and waves a hand to get Sasha's attention. "What's up with you?"

Sasha blinks innocently. "What?"

"You're hiding something," Annie says.

"I am not."'

"You're being all smiley."

"That doesn't mean anything," Sasha exclaims.

"To be fair," Ymir says, glancing up from the buttons, "Sasha is usually smiley."

"That's right," Sasha says defiantly, going back to her eyeshadow for a moment. It's just a moment though, because as soon as Ymir finishes the top button on Annie's dress, Sasha slams her pocket mirror shut and announces, "There is something."

Annie plops down onto the couch. "I knew it."

"Spill the beans, giiiiiirrrl," Ymir says as she settles back into her seat, reaching down to readjust her badge. "Drop that hot goss."

Annie kicks her. "Stop."

"Sorry."

"Okay, well, you didn't hear it from me," Sasha says. She tucks her pocket mirror away. "But I'm gonna ask out the flutist."

Annie frowns. "Who else would we have heard  that from?"

"The flutist?!" Ymir blurts out, leaning forward. "You mean Jean?! Is that still happening? I thought that date you guys went on was really weird."

"It was weird," Sasha agrees, holding up a finger. "But I'm putting that down to the fact that I was extremely tired that night, since I'd been working on the banner for the spelling bee all day. I can barely remember what we even talked about."

She pauses. "It was also weird because I was dressed like Thing One."

"Better than being dressed like Thing Two," Annie mutters.

Ymir high-fives her.

"So, here's my plan," Sasha says. "I'm gonna text him tomorrow, right before I go home for spring break, so I can just turn off my phone and forget that I did it."

"Smart," Ymir says. "Seems like you really want to go out with him."

She frowns, cocking her head. "Also, you're asking him out via text?"

"Well, we've been texting," Sasha exclaims, reaching for her phone. She scrolls through her messages, her brow furrowed. "Or at least, he's been texting me. I haven't really been responding. But that's how people date now, right?"

She glances up at Annie. "Right?"

"I wouldn't know," Annie says. "Mikasa and I were too powerful to be kept apart."

Sasha turns to Ymir. "Right?"

Ymir guffaws. "Do I look like I've ever successfully asked someone out?"

"Well,-"

"You do not want dating advice from me," Ymir says. "I know that I keep giving everyone dating advice, but trust me, you do not want it. I don't know why people keep listening to what I say."

"Well, fine," Sasha exclaims, slamming her phone down into her lap. "Then I'm going to ask him out and there's nothing you two can do about it."

And with that, it's spring break.

Sorry, that's a lie. The president of their alumni chapter gives an enormously long speech at dinner before the first course has even been served, and then Sasha spends the entire night sending Ymir screenshots of Jean's Instagram asking her to judge him by all of his exes (one of which is Mikasa, so... Ymir's not really sure what that says about him). Then she has class on Friday afternoon, and the only reason she doesn't blow it off is because she has to stay on campus anyways, hanging around for the tour bus to leave that evening.

Traveling with the symphony orchestra is honestly a nightmare, what with all the delicate instruments and everyone's bags and Pieck's stash of alcohol that she carries in an empty saxophone case (because it's not suspicious at all why their percussionist would be carrying a saxophone, you know), not to mention Ymir ends up sitting on the same bus as both Zeke Yeager and Marcel Galliard, which is, truly, a sight to behold and not one that she's really sure she can describe? They're on the complete opposite ends of the terrible spectrum, and instead of cancelling each other out, it's like they make each other ten times worse. In short, by the time the bus arrives at their first hotel that night, Ymir has a headache, an earache, and a need to break into Pieck's liquor stash.

The tour officially begins on Saturday afternoon with a matinee at a local high school (to show those chumps how it's done), and it continues on the same vein for the rest of the week: bus rides, hotel rooms, and uncomfortable group breakfasts at IHOP. There's not a lot of free time or personal space, but there is Friday night, and that's what the spring break tour is really about.

"It is spring break, after all," Bertholdt says for the fifth time when Pieck pours him another shot. "I mean, most people are probably getting drunk at the beach. Why can't we have one night of fun?"

"Would you shut up?" Ymir exclaims from the bed. "We get it, you're a hardass."

They've set up camp for the night in the room that she and Pieck are sharing. There are two other girls staying in the room, a pair of trombone players who pursed their lips and huffed out when asked if they wanted to join the party that was about to take place there. It's a tradition of the spring break tour: get drunk on the first night, get yelled at the next morning, and then spend the rest of the trip sore and exhausted from playing and traveling. How can they break tradition?

"Let him rationalize to himself," Pieck says. She takes the plastic shot glass back from Bertholdt and fills it all the way to the top. "Some of us are better at being bad bitches than others."

Ymir rolls her eyes, then hops off the bed, leaving her phone to charge on the nightstand as she joins the circle on the floor. Marcel has opted out of the party to practice,

(He is definitely gunning for Bertholdt's job, and if he gets first chair again next year, Ymir may have to flunk out of the music school on purpose. Dr. Mikkelsen did not admit any cellists to the music school for at least two years before theirs (side note: he's an elitist), which means that this rotating clown car has been vying for first chair since they got here, and when Marcel won out for sophomore year, his positivity was almost too much for Ymir to bear. She doesn't even sit near their section. Okay, maybe she just hates him for no reason.)

and although they briefly considered inviting a few violinists to join them, they decided to just keep it within their circle as usual. That circle being the cellists, the bassoonist, and a percussionist. Because, right, that friend group makes sense.

The music goes on, the drinks come out, and everyone does a mandated two shots before any games can begin. Pieck does four shots, because she has unlimited tolerance, and Porco makes it halfway to impressing her with five shots before he chokes on tequila and has to stand in the bathroom for five minutes, muttering at himself in the mirror as he splashes cold water on his face. The rest of them consume a normal amount of alcohol.

And because dinner was a $7 voucher to the Subway around the corner, they order pizza and garlic bread, send Reiner down to get it because he's the least drunk, send Bertholdt down to collect Reiner when he gets lost, and sit back to eat, all while ripping Dr. Mikkelsen a new one for being an actual tour terrorist. That language is a little strong, but forgive Ymir; she's positive that Pieck found a way to lace the garlic bread.

They're sufficiently drunk, the pizza demolished, when Pieck reaches into her bag for an unopened bottle of vodka (good lord, how much alcohol did she pack?!) and heralds it down into the center of the circle with a heavenly song.

"We're playing spin the bottle," she announces. She knocks it over unceremoniously. "Who wants to start?"

"Ugh," Ymir says, grimacing. She scoots back with the last slice of pizza in hand. "I'm out."

"We know," Reiner exclaims. He gives her a loud wink. "Wink."

"If you don't play," Pieck says, turning the bottle methodically with her hands, giving a threatening glare to each person it passes over, "you can't stay."

"Fine by me. I'm not taking my chances with any of you."

"Hang on," Bertholdt protests as Ymir leaps to her feet. "That only leaves four of us."

Pieck jerks the bottle to point at Porco. "You're up first."

"Me?" he exclaims. "I didn't agree to this."

"Spin it, spin it, spin it!"

Porco grumbles to himself, then reaches into the circle and gives the bottle a lousy spin. It wobbles around for a minute before slowly turning to face Bertholdt.

"Never mind," Ymir exclaims, dropping back into her seat. "I want to see this."

"Absolutely not," Bertholdt says, holding up a hand. "You can't play spin the bottle with only this many people- Reiner, put your phone away!"

"Sorry, babe, I have to do this."

"You're the one who slept with Galliard," Ymir says through a mouthful of pizza.

Porco, meanwhile, has all but disappeared into the neck of his sweater. "Oh my god. Can we stop talking about that?"

Pieck winks at him. "Everyone knows."

"That doesn't mean we need to keep talking about it!"

Bertholdt snatches the vodka bottle. "I didn't consent to playing spin the bottle."

"Fine," Pieck says, "then we're all going to go around and name our weirdest kinks, out loud. I'll start-"

Bertholdt slams the bottle back into the circle. "I would rather kiss Porco."

Ymir raises an eyebrow at him. "Got something to hide, Hoover?"

"She does," he says, glancing at Pieck with a furrowed brow. She waggles her eyebrows at him. "And I don't need to be an accomplice in whatever it is."

Reiner raises his phone again, finger hovering over the record button. "Then kiss him, bitch."

Bertholdt and Porco glance at each other uneasily. Pieck sits between them, looking way too casual as she sips on a shot of tequila, taking the time to swish it around in her mouth. Then again, this is probably what everyday is like for her. Bertholdt gets up on his knees, finally, swearing under his breath, and Porco has no choice but to follow suit, the silence in the room eating at them until they just get it over with.

They're just leaning towards each other when Reiner suddenly exclaims, "Wait."

Bertholdt sighs with relief.

Reiner hits record. "Kiss for real. None of that peck on the lips crap."

"Come on!" Bertholdt exclaims.

"Well," Ymir says, chewing on the crust of her pizza, "now we know what Reiner's weirdest kink is."

Bertholdt gets up on his knees again. "Let's just get this over with."

They're all expecting an argument from Porco, and it looks like Porco is too, his arms crossed as he shies away from the circle; he doesn't get the chance, however, because Bertholdt really meant what he said. He leans all the way in and absolutely plants one, his hand latched onto the collar of Porco's sweatshirt to hold him captive as they fulfill their duty.  

"Wow," Reiner says when they break. "That is my weirdest kink."

Bertholdt sits back and wipes his mouth. "Stop. We are not doing this."

"Do you two feel different?" Ymir asks, glancing between them. She cocks her head. "You look different."

Porco leans backwards slowly until he just falls over. "Can we please play a new game?"

"Fine," Pieck says. She slaps his stomach and he jerks upright, yowling. "We'll spin the bottle the other way."

Bertholdt grabs the vodka bottle just as Pieck lunges for it, and she lands on the carpet on all fours, her arms sliding out from under her body until she lays prone on her stomach, hissing.

"Bottles should be for drinking," Bertholdt exclaims. He passes it to Reiner, who gladly takes it and cracks it open. "No, I didn't mean open it."

"You said we should drink it!"

"There's still half a bottle of tequila left," he protests. He shakes his head as he heaves himself to his feet. "Never mind. You know what? It's spring break."

"Damn right," Ymir exclaims. "God, I haven't gotten drunk in so long."

"That's because you're a disaster," Reiner says as he pours her a shot. "Here."

"Thanks. You're my favorite enabler."

Bertholdt returns to the circle with a deck of cards. "Everybody find something to bet. We're playing poker."

Among the mishmash of coins and loose candy that are thrown it, the pot also includes Pieck's sparkly earrings, a half-used cake of rosin, Dr. Mikkelsen's cell phone number, and the right to choose everyone's breakfast for the rest of the tour. Reiner loses spectacularly in the first game and promptly runs out of found garbage to wager. Ymir follows soon after him; she may have a good poker face, but she's got shit luck. Pieck, as expected, coasts smoothly towards the finals, and when Porco finally crashes and burns, his clenched jaw giving away his bluff, it's just her and Bertholdt left, facing off against each other.

It's late by that point. Reiner and Ymir have already moved onto one of the beds, flipping through whatever crap is on TV at this time of night as the last game plays out. Pieck may be a witch who can conjure a good hand in every single round, but Bertholdt has perfected the art of not moving his facial muscles. When he lays down his last hand, his face betrays no emotion to show that he has bested Pieck's full house.

"Straight flush," he says. "I win."

Ymir snorts. "More like gay flush."

Bertholdt shoves his cards back into the deck. "This party's over. The tour is over. I'm never speaking to any of you again."

He smacks the top of the deck so the cards align evenly. "Except for Reiner."

Reiner gives him a thumbs-up from the bed, where he is currently falling asleep. "Hell yeah."

"You had fun tonight," Pieck exclaims, reaching over to ruffle his hair. Bertholdt sputters, moving out of her way, but she goes in with both hands and just absolutely goes to town. "It's spring break, after all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter will be posted at the end of march. i'm traveling a lot in the next few weeks, so i'm taking a break to write/edit without worrying about updating, since i've got other projects to work on as well.
> 
> thank you to everyone who reads, leaves kudos, and comments! it really means a lot to know that people are enjoying this story and it's always nice to hear your thoughts and/or feedback. there's still quite a bit left to happen before this fic wraps up, but we are getting close to the end. i hope that i can fulfill your expectations.


	20. one could be two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously on soul sisters: the symphony orchestra went on tour for spring break. this week: one double date, one maybe date, and one surprise date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: there's a brief mention of a past suicide attempt.

"Oh, no," Ymir exclaims, frowning at her phone. "This is actually happening."

She's lamenting about a number of things: the upcoming summer tour audition, the twenty-six unread emails in her university inbox, and the last performance on the spring break tour, which happens to be in a church just an hour away from the college. It's one final performance after a long week of being dragged around the tri-state area; after this, it's back to campus, back to class, and back to real life, which is moving way too fast. But although Ymir is dreading all three of those things, she's exclaiming about something else in this particular moment. 

She glances up, sighing, and turns to Reiner, who nods without looking up from his own phone.

"I know," he mutters, brow furrowed. "I might have to get my hands amputated." 

Ymir frowns. "What are you talking about?" 

"Carpal tunnel," he says. He glances up. "Wait, what are  _you_  talking about?" 

She huffs and leans back, plopping down on the keys of the piano with a low  _mdmdmmdm_ that slowly fades out. They're waiting in the green room for their final performance to begin, and the "green room" in this particular church happens to be a partially-finished basement that hosts music lessons and Sunday School. Reiner has taken it upon himself to claim the entire piano bench so he can research carpal tunnel and scare himself into thinking that his career is over, and he lies down on his back now, legs hanging off the end of the bench as he continues to scroll through his phone. 

Most of the symphonic orchestra is collapsed in various states of exhaustion across the room, watching Netflix or listening to music before they have to go on stage again. Bertholdt has straight up fallen asleep in a beanbag in the corner, and Ymir gets distracted for a second by whatever Pieck is trying to quietly do to his hair (give him a fauxhawk or something? she's not really sure) before she comes to again and glances down at Reiner, who is looking at her upside-down.

"Sasha is making me go on a double date," Ymir says.

"Aw," Reiner says. "I always thought you two would be good together."

"What?" Ymir exclaims. "No, she's making me go out with her and  _Jean_." 

Reiner frowns. "Oh."

"Yeah," Ymir says. "She doesn't even like him, I don't know why she's going out with him."

She does know why Sasha is going out with him, actually, because the chain of frantic messages she'd received from Sasha in the last ten minutes went something like this: 

**Text from Sasha**  
i've made a huge mistake  
remember when i asked jean out via text and then turned my phone off for all of spring break so i wouldn't have to know if he said yes or no?  
well i just got back from spring break and he said yes  
I DIDN'T THINK HE'D ACTUALLY SAY YES YMIR   
but he seemed excited so now i feel bad and i have to go through with this  
anyways i panicked and told him that it was going to be a double date with you  
so we're going to olive garden on friday at 7  
please bring someone respectable  
or not respectable! bring anyone you want. please just come and make this less weird  
we're in this together, ride or die  
please reply to confirm   
i love you bye please help me

**Text from Ymir  
** why the fuck did you pick olive garden???

**Text from Sasha**  
i didn't think he'd actually say yes so i just picked the first place i could think of  
you should bring historia ;)

**Text from Ymir**  
friendship cancelled 

"She's way too cool for him," Reiner says, tapping something else into Google. He holds his phone directly over his face, the screen lighting up his skin, and Ymir crosses her arms and watches, waiting desperately for him to drop it on his face. "She did, like, six shots of Fireball at that Halloween party and she still beat me at darts. Jean is- I mean, he's a flutist."

He drops the phone on his face. "Oof."

Ymir immediately sends that video to everyone she knows. "Dumbass." 

Reiner heaves himself upright, swinging his legs around the bench to face the piano. "Let me clarify: generally speaking, flutists are alright. It's just that Jean is the kind of person who you want to punch in the face, even if he hasn't actually done anything wrong." 

Ymir narrows her eyes at him. "You once called him fuckable."

"Oh, yeah," Reiner exclaims. "That doesn't make him  _not_ fuckable." 

"I don't know what anyone sees in him."

"I wouldn't expect your gay ass to understand." 

Ymir glares at him. "Please just be my fake date."

Reiner winks. "Okay, but you can't fall in love with me."

"Yeah, I won't."

"You say that now," he says, plucking out a few lilting notes on the piano, "but we all know how this rom-com ends." 

"I'm pretty sure that won't happen."

"Never say never."

"I didn't."

"Well, don't. When and where is this double date happening? Are you paying for me?"

"We're going to Olive Garden on Friday," Ymir says, tucking her phone into her back pocket, "and you bet your buns I'm fucking not."

"We're going to Olive Garden?" Reiner exclaims, slamming his hand down on the keys with a cacophonous melody. "Whose idea was that?" 

"Sasha has terrible taste. I plan to eat my weight in carbs and have a heart attack halfway through dinner."

"When you're there, you're family," Reiner says. He glances up at her. "Would it be weird if I brought Bertholdt?"

Ymir raises her eyebrows. "Would it be weird if you brought your boyfriend on our fake double date?"

"Is that a yes?"

"It's a double date, you dildo, not a five-way."

"We haven't been out in so long," Reiner exclaims, turning to face her. "And we're going to be so busy for the next couple of weeks, so I just thought-"

"Fine, whatever," Ymir huffs, sinking down against the piano. The keys groan beneath her. "Maybe if you two are there, then I don't actually have to show up."

Reiner shakes his head. "You need to be there. Bert hates Jean almost as much as you do. You guys can commiserate together instead of attempting murder."

"Sounds like you're setting us up to overpower him."

"That is  _not_ what I'm suggesting," Reiner says. He cocks his head. "It could be a triple date. How are the Greek Games going, Ymir?" 

Another day, another friendship cancelled. She's just gotten him into a headlock when Dr. Mikkelsen barges into the green room and scolds them all like the children they are, and then they're off to the stage for their final performance of the spring break tour: a classical medley of songs for the five elderly people who stuck around after church to attend the Sunday matinee. It's not the most exciting concert, but it's not a bad way to finish off the tour either. For once, Ymir feels like she can just play; there's no one to impress, no grade to earn, just a chance to get on stage and hum along with the bassoon. 

There's the added bonus that this is the church where Reiner played Canon in D five hundred times over Christmas break to earn money for his top surgery this summer, so once the concert's over, every single little old lady in the audience approaches him and croons about how much they'd love for him to come to Easter dinner and meet their granddaughter. Ymir watches from afar while packing away her bassoon, and then she plops down beside Bertholdt and his open cello case to snicker even more. 

"Old people just love him," Bertholdt says, barely glancing up at her. He's putting away his cello without looking, running on autopilot as he watches Reiner from across the room. 

"They sure do," Ymir says. She places her bassoon case beside her and leans back against the wall, stretching her legs out. "Speaking of old people-"

"I don't know what kind of joke you're about to make, but you know that you're almost a year older than, right?"

Ymir glances sideways at him. "For once, I was not going to make fun of you."

Bertholdt looks up. "Really?"

"Well, I am  _now_ ," she exclaims. "Speaking of old people, the jazz age called. They want that cummerbund back." 

"I'm required to wear this!" 

"I was actually coming over to talk to you," Ymir says, glancing across the room at Reiner, who is being manhandled into taking a picture with a few of the church ladies. "Alone."

Bertholdt follows her gaze, then turns back to her. "This is one of your famous emotional talks that you're going to pretend isn't emotional."

Ymir wrinkles her nose. "What? I don't do emotional talks."

"Right."

"I'm not  _famous_ for that," Ymir exclaims. "Who says I'm famous for that?"

Reiner's fake-laugh-turned-cry-for-help-as-an-old-lady-pinches-his-cheek echoes through the room.

"Okay, fine," Ymir grumbles. "Maybe that's what this is."

Bertholdt lowers the lid of his cello case and begins snapping the locks shut from top to bottom. "I know that you've been talking to Reiner about us for the last couple of weeks while we've been separated-"

"Oh my god, you even talk likean old person.  _Separated?_ You guys aren't fucking married." 

"-and I know," Bertholdt continues, ignoring her, "that he told you about what happened last summer."

Ymir eyes him. "You mean, what happened on the tour."

He snaps the last lock. "I mean, when we found that girl who'd tried to kill herself in the bathtub."

Ymir drags her hands down her tired face, letting out a long breath. "I guess I can never fault you again for not being abrupt. Yes, he told me about that. He told me what that did to you guys. I mean- look, I know, even though I keep getting into your shit, that it's really none of my business, bottom line. I can't fault either of you for acting the way that you did."

"Well, you could," Bertholdt says. He scoots back to sit next to her, leaning against the wall, and begins sorting his sheet music in his lap. "But you won't, because you've grown a lot as a person this year."

"Don't deflect this emotional conversation onto me," Ymir exclaims, glancing sharply at him. "I wanted to talk about you and Reiner."

Bertholdt shuffles his sheet music for a few seconds, but his hands slow down; after a few seconds, Ymir gets the feeling that he's not moving with purpose at all, just for something to do with his hands. Then he shuffles all the papers together into one, unorganized stack and tucks them away into his binder before glancing back at her. 

"We're going to be fine, Ymir," he says.

She can't help but frown. He sounds like he means it, but she's been wrong before.

"Don't make that face," Bertholdt says immediately, scowling. 

"Excuse me for being concerned! But you guys haven't exactly been solid for the last few months. Remember when you ruined my recital by dumping all of your feelings on me? You basically told me that you wanted to break up with him."

"Okay, first of all," Bertholdt says, "the only person who ruined your recital was yourself."

"That's the most important thing to negate there, huh?"

"And you passed anyways," he continues. "Also, I'm pretty sure I never said that I wanted to break up. I've never actually wanted to break up with him, even when these last few months have been really hard."

"You said you might just get up one day and leave."

"Okay, I was freaking out that night," Bertholdt says. "I was just scared that I was going to do something irrational. I didn't actually want to leave him." 

He sighs, dropping his head back against the wall. 

"I'm still scared," he says, lowering his voice. "I just  _worry_ about him, all the time. He says that I don't have to look out for him like that, but you know him too, Ymir. You know how bad it can get for him sometimes." 

Ymir draws her legs up to her chest. "I know." 

"He's been okay, even throughout this whole thing," Bertholdt says. "I think the distance helped clear his head, and it's made it clear- at least to me- that our relationship is worth making it work."

She looks sideways at him. "I thought you guys haven't had your big relationship talk yet."

He shrugs. "There's still some stuff to talk about, but we've been talking over the whole tour. It's been nice to have him back."

That's cute as fuck. 

"It's like I said," Bertholdt continues, his voice still quiet. "I'm never going to not worry about him, but he's been good since this semester started. It'll be nice to be back together for real, going out and doing things together again, and he's starting the process of scheduling his top surgery, so that's something he's really looking forward to."

Ymir gives a small  _hm._ "That's gonna be so fucking good for him."

"He's been talking about it for  _years_ ," Bertholdt mutters. "At this point, he's less excited than he is  _utterly impatient_."

She purses her lips, glancing at him. "Is he going on tour this summer?"

Bertholdt shakes his head. "He's going to talk to Dr. Mikkelsen. I mean, the tour's at the end of the summer, so if his surgery is early enough, then, you know, hopefully."

He glances at her. "But also, money."

"Oh, fuck," Ymir exclaims. "I forgot that the tour costs money."

"I'm pretty sure Dr. Mikkelsen will pay to bring a bassoonist on tour."

"He fucking better," Ymir growls. "I'm a god damn treasure." 

"There's also the matter of Mrs. Braun," Bertholdt adds, which is the polite name he uses for  _Karina Fucking Braun_ , who is possibly the worst person on earth. "He'll have to take out more loans next year if she cuts him off, so he's not going to come out to her until after he graduates-"

"Jesus fucking Christ."

"I know," Bertholdt exclaims, glancing at her with wide eyes. "This is why I worry about him."

He turns his gaze back to Reiner, who is slowly tearing himself away from the grasps' of the church ladies. "I'm always going to worry about him. There's so much that could go wrong, which, I think, is why I've been so scared. I'm worried that is something happens- I mean, if his mom finds out- that neither of us are going to be able to handle it. I don't know what he'd do. He still loves her, even though she's been such a..."

He trails off, clenching his jaw.

"Cunt," Ymir offers. "I think that's the word you're looking for."

"Sure," Bertholdt says drily. He sighs. "It could be really, really bad."

They sit in silence for a second, the conversation weighing on them; then Ymir looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

"But?" she fills in. 

"But," Bertholdt continues, sitting upright, "we're going to be there for each other, no matter what. I'm scared to trust him on this, because if something does end up happening- I don't know. I'd blame myself. We'd each blame ourselves. But I guess I have to let go of that fear, because, well... I love him."

Ymir stares at him, her eyes wide. "When is someone gonna make a speech like that for me?"

Bertholdt glances at her. "How are the Greek Games going, Ymir?" 

She snatches his sheet music binder out of his lap and whacks him over the head with it. "Shut up." 

He wails. "Stop hitting me!"

Ymir stumbles upright, her entire body aching after a week of playing non-stop and sleeping on motel mattresses, and she gives him one last  _thwap_ on the top of his head before she drops the binder onto the floor and lets the sheet music spill everywhere. "I'll see you at Olive Garden, you asshole. Thanks for talking about your feelings with me."

Bertholdt's confused cries echo after her as she departs. "Wait, Olive Garden? Who's going to Olive Garden?" 

It's back to the grind after that. Not that spring break was much of a break for the music students; instead of relaxing at the beach, they'd been cramped in school buses and hotel rooms all week, and when they weren't fighting each other for oxygen, they were praying to keep up their stamina to finish the tour. 

Ymir thought that the spring break tour might encourage her efforts to audition for the summer tour, to remind her that she's a good musician after all and she can definitely hold her own on a tour. But when the bus finally rolls back to campus, marking the official end of spring break, she stumbles off with her backpack and bassoon case, ready to roll right into bed. She's  _exhausted_ and that was just one week of low-key performances in church basements. The summer tour is a month-long thrill ride across Europe, moving between cities and countries every other day, playing and practicing constantly.  _And_ she still has to audition for it. 

It's exhausting to even think about it, since the summer still seems so far away. But her audition is approaching faster than she'd like and she needs to practice her chosen piece. She thinks she's found something good, at least: something that she can learn in what little time she has left, and something that Dr. Mikkelsen won't completely hate. Now, though, it's a matter of actually learning that audition piece, because in the end, Dr. Mikkelsen is right. She has to go on this tour. Even if she doesn't end up going to graduate school (and, like, god forbid she actually chooses to do that), she needs something to prove that her music degree was worth it. A prestigious tour sounds like the right kind of ego boost. 

Luckily, she still has time in her days to practice. She has symphony and wind quartet, of course, and the preparation for the Greek Games is beginning to heat up. Ymir returns from spring break to twelve emails from Historia, all about different tasks that they need to finish as soon as possible. But she still has time to practice, so for once, Ymir chooses to do the responsible thing and, like, actually practice.

That's where she is all week: between rehearsals and yoga lessons, she locks herself in a practice room. So on Friday afternoon, when she finally emerges from the darkness and finds three desperate voicemails from Sasha, begging her not to forget about their weird double date that night, Ymir blinks and awakes from a music coma. 

Oh, right. She actually agreed to go on this date. 

She packs up her bassoon in the early evening and leaves Saber's hallowed hall as the sun begins to set. She heads across campus to get ready for the date, and she's nearly back to her dorm when she runs into Annie, who passes in the opposite direction in full workout gear. 

"It's a Friday night, you monster," Ymir yells. "Go out and get drunk."

Annie takes out her earbuds, nodding at Ymir. "Wanna come to the aerobics room?"

Ymir grimaces. "Is that where you're going to murder me?"

"We're having our first training session for the Greek Games," Annie explains.

"You guys are  _training_?"

"We need to get our team into shape if we want to have a chance at winning. Our girls need to work on their strength training."

"You guys are taking this way too seriously," Ymir sighs.

"Hey," Annie says, cocking her head. "You're working on the games. You know exactly how serious we need to be taking this. Come give us some inside tips."

Ymir frowns. "Yeah, IDK, man. It's not, like, the Olympics."

"Did you just say IDK out loud?"

"Even If I wanted to cheat to help you win," Ymir says, and she totally does, although she was thinking something along the lines of sabotaging the other teams so that Beta wins by default, "it's just, like, volleyball and shit. I'm not exactly sure what I could tell you that you don't already know.

"Also," she adds, "I can't, because I have a date tonight."

"Right," Annie says, narrowing her eyes. "You're going on that disastrous double date."

"Oh, no doubt," Ymir says. "It's gonna be a fucking shit show." 

But who would Ymir be if she wasn't on board for such a shit show?

She makes it back to her dorm room with just thirty minutes to spare before she's supposed to meet Jean and Sasha in the parking lot, but that's more than enough time for her to get ready. It's a fake double date, after all, and she's fifth-wheeling, so it's not like she needs to dress up for anyone. She spends most of that half-hour changing her mind about her jacket (which looks better with her red flannel- the denim or the leather?), before she finally settles on the leather jacket, shoves her ankle boots back on, and strolls out the door with an actual purse slung over her shoulder (normally, she is an advocate of the "wallet in the pocket" technique, but she bought these extremely tight and ripped jeans for the aesthetic, not the functionality, so here she is). She finds Jean and Sasha waiting for her in the parking lot outside the Beta house, leaning against the hood of Jean's car.

"Oh my god, you made it," Sasha nearly screams when she sees Ymir. She bolts upright, her long ponytail swinging behind her. "Thank god you're here!"

"How could I miss such a special occasion?" Ymir exclaims, approaching the car. She looks Sasha up and down, her eyebrows raised. "Are you wearing heels?" 

Sasha pushes up the sleeves of her white button-down. "It's a date."  

"We're going to Olive Garden."

"Italian food is classy," Sasha says. That's debatable. "You actually kind of dressed up, though."

Ymir glances down at herself. "Really?" 

It has to be the purse, because this is what she wears 99% of the time and Sasha has never commented on it before. Jean, on the other hand, obviously had the same thought as Sasha and put in some effort to look nice for their date. He has managed to dress a little less like an exhausted music student, except now he just looks like the world's biggest douchebag. Who does he think he is, just wearing a leather jacket out in public like that? It's a clear appropriation of lesbian culture.

Sup, nerd," Ymir says, nodding at him.

He looks her up and down.

"We are not wearing the same thing," Ymir exclaims before he can comment. "Because I can actually pull off this look."

He scowls. "Where's your date?" 

"Uh, he's coming," she says, pulling her phone out to pretend to check her messages. "He's going to meet us at the restaurant."

Jean's car keys clink in his fist as he frowns at her. "He couldn't drive you?"

Reiner did offer to pick her up, but he and Bertholdt have been insanely annoying since they've officially gotten back together. She thought she would be happy about this, and deep down, she is. It's just, like, she walked in on them making out in the instrument locker room yesterday and they barely acknowledged her presence before just continuing, like fucking animals. Sasha had insisted that Ymir ride with them anyways, just in case it was weird to be alone with Jean, even though she is the one who decided to ask him out in the first place and frankly, in Ymir's humble opinion, she should have dressed down a little if she didn't want him to think that she was into him. She doesn't understand straight people, is the moral of this story.

"Nope," Ymir exclaims. "He's gay. Come on, let's go."

It's a nice night. Spring is just beginning, and the days are lighter for longer. Jean's two-door car is obnoxiously loud and Ymir had to climb into the back seat, but the windows are down and she's content to take a brief sunset nap as they fly down the road, twenty minutes from the restaurant. By the time they arrive, the sun has almost gone down. Sasha looks a little less desperate-to-be-anywhere-else, and they're seated at a large table on the patio, the cool spring breeze rustling over their faces as they wait for their friends.

It's a nice night. Maybe this won't be so weird after all.

"So," Sasha says after they order their drinks. She turns to Jean, hands folded over her menu. "You still play the flute, right?"

He looks at her. "Yeah. That's what I'm getting my degree in."

Alright, well, maybe Ymir read the mood wrong. Maybe this will be really weird.

"It's an underrated instrument," Jean continues. "It's not all spit and dick jokes."

Sasha narrows her eyes. "Right."

Ymir knows enough about Sasha to know that she knows nothing about the flute, or music in general, and though Ymir is more than happy to offer a skin flute joke in order to fill her in, she doesn't get the chance.

"Hey, we're here!" she hears someone call, and she glance over her shoulder, relieved to see Reiner and Bertholdt approaching the table, hopeful that they'll end the awkwardness. Then she notices that they're also wearing the same outfit, and she's pretty certain that they actually did that on purpose.

They take the last two seats at the table, sitting across from Ymir, and Sasha perks up.

"Oh, look who made it!" she exclaims, not even perturbed by the extra person tagging along on this experience, because Ymir may have forgotten to mention that her date was going to bring his boyfriend. "It's nice to see you guys!"

"You look like you just robbed the set of  _Brokeback Mountain_ ," Ymir says, gesturing at their matching denim jackets.

Bertholdt scowls at her. "I got dressed first. Blame him."

"Bert, have you met Sasha?" Reiner asks, grabbing his hand to force an introductory handshake across the table. 

"I think we've had a class together," Bertholdt says. "Freshman English?"

Sasha's face lights up. "Oh, yeah! God, that was forever ago. I hated that class."

"Wait," Jean says, furrowing his brow. "Ymir, where's your date?"

"They are my date," Ymir exclaims. "Get with it, Jean."

Bertholdt glances at her. "No, we're here together. Ymir is single."

"Thanks."

"Right," Jean says. "So, this is a double-date, plus Ymir?"

"Yeah," Reiner says as he hands Bertholdt a menu. "Don't worry, she's used to it." 

Ymir leans back with her frozen margarita (that she's actually been carded for, and had actually been able to show a legal ID for, because the fact that she forgot to mention her birthday in her inner monologue does not mean that she did not turn 21 in February) and she slurps on it loudly to annoy Reiner. 

The waiter returns to finish serving drinks, then dumps a basket of breadsticks on their table and leaves without making any promises about when he'll be back to take their meal orders. Sasha tears into a breadstick, taking it apart slowly as she glances around the table, never actually eating any of the bread. Reiner, whose main problem in life is empathy-induced anxiety, begins doing the same. Ymir thinks about jumping in with a conversation starter (god, someone please say something), but she was just jilted by nearly everyone at the table, so she sits back and enjoys her margarita as the night becomes black around them.

"This is fun," Reiner exclaims after a minute. He squishes a piece of bread between his hands. "All five of us here together."

"It's a thrill a minute," Bertholdt says as he reaches for his wine glass. 

Reiner kicks Ymir under the table.

"Wrong direction," she barks, kicking back.

"Sorry," he says, then kicks Bertholdt, who continues to sip his wine at a pace that creates the illusion he's not holding himself back from chugging it all at once.

"So," Sasha begins again, setting aside her plate of torn bread. "Did anyone do anything fun over spring break?"

"We were on tour," the other four say simultaneously. 

"Cool," Sasha says. "So..."

"It was no fun," Ymir adds.

Jean turns to Sasha. "Did you do anything fun over spring break?"

"Oh, I just went home," Sasha says. "I had to help my dad get everything ready for the new chicks, and then we had a crawfish boil on my last night. That was pretty fun."

He stares at her. "Where are you from again?"  

Ymir zones out of that conversation when her phone buzzes abruptly on the table, and she sets down her margarita to reach for it.

**Text from Historia**  
any chance you're free right now?   
i'm working on something for the games and i need an opinion 

**Text from Ymir**  
unfortunately i am on a date

**Text from Historia**  
oh sorry to interrupt! have fun :)

**Text from Ymir**  
wait not like that  
i'm the fifth wheel on a double date  
so it's okay for me to be rude and text at dinner 

**Text from Historia**  
oh my god  
how did you end up in that situation?

"Anyways," Sasha exclaims loudly, snapping Ymir's gaze back up to the dinner table. "It's almost formal season! Reiner, is Gamma still doing their mountain retreat thing?"

"Oh, yeah," Reiner says. "It's an annual tradition."

She turns to Bertholdt. "And are you going with him?"

Bertholdt slurps on his wine. "Absolutely not." 

"Bertholdt does not approve of the festivities that go down at a fraternity formal," Reiner explains. "Even though, you know, you're not required to participate."

"God, what happens?" Ymir exclaims, dropping her phone into her lap. "Is there an orgy?"

"No, but that's a good idea."

" _Reiner_."

"Didn't you guys get together at Gamma formal?" Ymir asks. She sits upright and reaches for her margarita again. "I mean, I know you've been eyefucking all your lives, but isn't that when you, like, made it official?" 

"That was unofficial," Bertholdt says. "I refuse to let that den of sin be the birthplace of our relationship."

Reiner rolls his eyes. "You sound like my mom."

"I watched three of your fraternity brothers conduct a scientific experiment to determine how much cocaine a person had to ingest before they no longer felt pain after jumping off the roof of the cabin."

"Oh yeah, that was the year Marky ended up in a coma," Reiner says. He glances around the silent table and waves a nonchalant hand. "Don't worry, that was two years ago. He's fine now."

Jean raises an eyebrow. "But is he still in a coma?"

"Did you guys fall in love during the frat orgy?" Ymir asks, leaning in to give them a saccharine smirk. "Is that why you're dressed like that tonight?" 

Reiner glances down at his outfit. "Dressed like what?"

"Dude, you're wearing denim on denim."

"The jacket's just for comfort. There's nothing wrong with this outfit."

Bertholdt silently begins removing his own denim jacket.

"Anyways," Reiner says, turning back to Ymir, "you can find out for yourself what the frat orgy is like, because I'm bringing you as my date this year."

She drops her phone onto the table. "Do I get any sort of input into this decision?"

"I'll let you pick the liquor."

She huffs, swirling the melted remnants of her frozen margarita in the glass. "Maybe the Gamma brothers will finally learn my name if I spend a weekend in the woods with them." 

"They know your name," Reiner says.

Ymir raises an eyebrow. "Really, because last time I was at the Gamma house, I had ten discrete gentlemen yell, 'Hey, it's the Iron Cunt!' when they saw me approaching."

Bertholdt frowns. "Is that  _not_  your name?" 

Ymir sighs. "I'm actually not offended by it at all. I wish they'd come up with something a little more creative." 

She glances across the table at Sasha, whose gaze has long since turned to the door of the patio, waiting for their server to return and finally take their orders. "When is our formal?" 

Sasha blinks at her. "What? Oh, in a couple of weeks. I kind of wish we got to do the whole weekend trip thing. That sounds like fun."

"You should come to Gamma formal," Reiner offers. "There are a lot of single freshmen who would love to take you."

Ymir ignores Sasha's answer and instead watches with glee as Jean tries very hard not to clench his fists. 

"By the way," Sasha says, turning back to Ymir. "Are you bringing anyone to formal?" 

"I'll repeat something I say to you nearly every week. Do I look like I've ever successfully asked someone out?"

Sasha side-eyes Reiner and Bertholdt. "...no."

"Then no," Ymir says. "I'm just gonna pre-game and then show up and probably do something embarrassing."

She sets her empty margarita glass down and reaches for her phone again, leaning back in her chair. "Is Mikasa still being a hardass president or will she pre-game with us?"

"She'll probably come," Sasha says. "But she's not allowed to drink at the event."

"Ugh, responsibility sucks," Ymir grumbles, unlocking her phone. She glances up at the other three. "Am I right?"

Bertholdt gives a pronounced " _yes_ " while Reiner merely nods, and Jean does a very good job of not begging Sasha to invite  _him_ to Beta formal. 

"Oh, I know," Reiner exclaims. He winks across the table at Ymir. "You should invite Historia."

She scowls. "Shut up."

Bertholdt stares desperately at his empty wine glass. "Oh my god, is that still happening?" 

"It's complicated!"

"Wait a minute," Jean exclaims suddenly, pulled out of his staring-at-Sasha reverie. He sneers at Ymir. "Are  _you_ dating Historia Reiss?"

"We're  _friends_ ," she hisses back, jerking upright. "And you can eat my entire ass, Jean Spitstein!"

Sasha glances between them. "What is happening?" 

"That was one time," Jean sputters. "It was- nothing, don't worry about it." 

Ymir slumps back in her seat, rolling her eyes, and returns to her phone as the conversation moves on. 

**Text from Ymir**  
i was just trying to be a good friend  
but my fake date brought his boyfriend and now i guess we're having a five-way at olive garden

**Text from Historia**  
you're on a date at olive garden?? of all places

**Text from Ymir**  
good, so i'm not the only one who thinks that's weird

**Text from Historia**  
make sure to steal some breadsticks on your way out

Ymir smiles to herself, and her fingers hover over the screen as she thinks of something to stay. She glances up, searching, and she's just in time to hear the end of a rambling story that Sasha is telling in a moment of bursting anxiety to ease the awkwardness.

"And then, you know, we had to get out of there, because we weren't really interested in being arrested, so we started running down the street, and I was freaking out because I didn't remember taking my hearing aids, so I thought I'd lost them, and Connie was yelling at me to watch out for a pothole in the road, but I figured that out too late and ended up breaking my ankle, so, anyways, that's how I spent finals week of my freshman year in the hospital." 

"You know Connie?" Jean exclaims, setting his glass down.

Sasha blinks at him. "Wait, do you know Connie?"

"Connie Springer?"

"Yeah! How do you know him?"

"We took a theatre class together last year. He was the only reason I survived that class."

"Oh my god, he's, like, the funniest person I've ever met! Does he still do stand-up at Thursday open mic?"

"Connie?" Reiner exclaims, leaning in to the table. "That dude's hilarious!"

"Oh, yeah," Bertholdt adds. "He's the only reason they still do open mic nights, actually." 

Ymir glances around, furrowing her brow, and mutters to herself, "Who the fuck is Connie?"

Her phone buzzes again, and she glances down to read it.

**Text from Historia**  
sorry to keep bothering you, but do you remember where the social media doc is on the drive?   
i'm doing some marketing stuff and i can't remember the insta login

**Text from Ymir**  
i think it's in the main folder in that miscellaneous doc  
the one that's just a bunch of random shit, but you have to scroll down to the bottom

**Text from Historia**  
found it! thank you so much

**Text from Ymir**  
what are you working on? 

**Text from Historia**  
i just finished all the promo posts and i need to queue them up  
now i get to finish t-shirt designs and finally order them   
and also balance our budget 

**Text from Ymir  
** wow, is there anything more exciting than budget balancing on a friday night??

**Text from Historia**  
if there is, i don't want to know about it 

**Text from Ymir**  
hey you know what? me fifth-wheeling is not important. i can come over and help you

**Text from Historia**  
are you sure? i don't want to interrupt your olive garden experience

Ymir glances back up to the table; the conversation is actually flowing now, the awkwardness relieved now that the ice has been broken, but it's clear that Ymir's presence doesn't fit into this dynamic and frankly, she would rather not be here right now. Jean and Sasha can get along after all, but she doesn't need to sit here and listen to them flirt at Olive Garden- of all places. 

**Text from Ymir**  
i'm sure. please give me an excuse to get out of here

**Text from Historia**  
lmao ok. i'm at the zeta house. see you soon 

"I gotta gay," Ymir exclaims, sitting upright in her seat. "I mean, I gotta go." 

"Wait, what?" Sasha says, glancing at her. "We just ordered."

"I know," Ymir says as she scoots out of her chair. "But there's, like, a Greek games emergency or something. I gotta go save the day." 

"Oh, an emergency," Reiner says. He gives her a huge wink. "Right."

"Ohhh," Sasha says, suddenly grinning. "Is that what we're calling it now?" 

Jean glances around. "Is something wrong?"

"None of your business," Ymir snaps, stringing her purse over her shoulder. "I'm calling an Uber. Reiner, you're paying my food."

"What?" 

"Isn't that what straight people do on dates?" 

"Fine, but I'm taking it home for leftovers."

"Whatever," Ymir says. She starts off. "I'll see you losers later."

She forces her Uber Driver to make a pit stop at Taco Bell on the way back to campus- finally, some good fucking food- and gets all the way to the front door of the Zeta Chi house before she stops cold and wonders if maybe this is a bad idea. Is she even allowed to go into another sorority's house? Better question: is she going to allowed into the Zeta house at all? The last time she was here, she was making a disastrous and misguided attempt to join Zeta, and since then her interactions with their members have been, well, drunk and yelling and catastrophic. She's made a less than favorable impression, is what she's getting at. 

And if Ymir has learned anything about sororities, it's that everyone knows everyone else's business, so everyone in Zeta Chi definitely knows who Ymir is, even if they can't quite remember the specifics. 

But the tacos are getting cold.

She fidgets on the doorstep for another second before muttering "fuck this" and pressing the doorbell. She waits for just a few moments before the door opens suddenly, and a yawning girl with mussed hair blinks out at her. 

"Hi," Ymir says. 

"Oh, hi," the girl says. "You're Ymir, right?"

Ymir goes cold. "Uh-"

"Historia said you'd be coming over," the girl says. "Come in."

"Thanks," Ymir says, and she steps across the threshold of the Zeta house. It looks different than she remembers, much less grand and intimidating; maybe that's because it looks exactly like the Beta Alpha Epsilon house, because the buildings are manufactured properties of the school and are different in name only. Zeta, on their part, has done a better job of decorating their foyer, with crisp baby blue paint and a glittery chandelier hanging overhead.

The girl yawns again as she closes the door, barely stifling the noise, then turns back to Ymir. "Sorry. I was taking a nap."

"On Friday night?" Ymir exclaims, then shakes her head. "Never mind, I've totally done that."

"Historia's in her room," the girl says, pointing to the staircase. "Do you need me to show you or- you know what, all the doors have names on them. You can find it."

The girl disappears with a tired half-wave, and Ymir stands alone in the foyer of the quiet Zeta house with her bag of Taco Bell, feeling thoroughly less confused than she thought she would be. Sorority girls- they're just like us. 

Historia's room isn't hard to find. The bedrooms are conveniently labeled with the occupants' names in bright, glittery name tags. Historia shares her room with someone named Kiki, who must be the house mom, since she's tacked a weekly chore wheel onto the door, reminding the sisters of their tasks. There's also a post-it note yelling at someone named Clara to get her marine biology project out of the kitchen. Ymir is glad, not for the first time, that their campus' sorority houses are not big enough to force all members to live inside. Beta's house mom is even more anal retentive than Kiki. Sasha once left some eraser shavings on a table in the study room and she was subjected to dish duty for a week. And she doesn't even live there. 

Ymir knocks twice, and when Historia answers, she looks relieved.

"That was fast," she exclaims, holding the door open. Her hair is tied back in a messy bun, though it's clearly falling apart, and even more incredibly, she's wearing a pair of thick, rounded glasses. 

"That wasn't fast at all," Ymir says as she steps inside. "It took me forever to get here."

"Well, I'm not really keeping track of time," Historia says. She closes the door and steps back inside, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I got sucked into the budget, but I think I'm almost done with it. I figured I'd save the t-shirts for when you got here." 

She sighs and trails off, staring at the mess of papers on the floor. Ymir glances around. Most of the personality in Historia's room seems to have come from her roommate, who has decorated her entire side of the room with Zeta pictures and canvases. Two big gold ZX letters hang over her bed, and there are arrays of crafting supplies sprawled across her desk. Historia's side is much more reserved: a simple floral bedspread, a few photos tacked onto the wall, a stack of textbooks and class notes on her desk. Ymir catches a glimpse at the complex text on Historia's open laptop screen, remembers that Historia is a computer science major, and turns away, shaking her head.

"This is insane," Ymir says, gesturing at the madness of the floor.

"I know," Historia exclaims. She sits down on the carpet, crosslegged, and begins shifting through the papers. "I printed out all of our accounts so I could get a better grasp on it, and I've finished, basically, you know, making sure everything is correct, but now I've got that huge pile of shit on the floor." 

Ymir plops down next to her as she shuffles the papers into one stack and begins shifting them aside, making room for the laptop that she pulls down from her desk and sets in front of them. They're just two co-workers, two friends, hanging out and getting some shit done on a Friday night. Still, Ymir can't help herself. She pulls out her phone surreptitiously. 

**Text from Ymir**  
i'm in her bedroom

**Text from Reiner**  
YOU BIG SLUT I KNEW IT 

She will correct him on that later. But not yet. 

"I brought tacos," she offers, holding up the greasy paper bag. "I haven't eaten yet and judging by the state of this room, it looks like you haven't either."

Historia glances up, her eyes going wide. "Oh my god. I can't even remember the last time I ate."

"You work too fucking hard."

"There's just so much to do," Historia exclaims, but she doesn't protest anymore, especially when Ymir lays out their fast food spread and offers her a taco. She takes it, sighing as she bites into it. "You know, maybe we should just save the t-shirt stuff for tomorrow. It's not like sending the order in tonight will make any difference."

"You sure?" Ymir asks, tearing open a packet of sauce. "That was on your checklist to finish this week."

"Saturday is still this week," Historia says. "I had something else I wanted to talk to you about, actually."

Ymir glances up from her taco. "Uh, okay."

Historia takes a moment to finish chewing before she sets her taco down in its wrapper and clears her throat. "The reason I work so fucking hard is because I don't have another choice, really. I think I told you earlier that planning the Greek games isn't really part of my job, as Panhellenic president. I'm supposed to just be supervising the process." 

"I remember that," Ymir says. "You threw some shade at the VP of Public Relations, or whatever her title is." 

"I'm about to throw some more shade," Historia says, and Ymir chomps down on her taco eagerly, because she is so here for this, whatever it is.

Historia leans back, thoughtful for a moment, then says, "She just quit."

Ymir raises her eyebrows. "Oh."

"I know."

"Right in the middle of all this?"

"Yeah," Historia says. "I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a surprise, because she's young and kind of inexperienced, and it really seemed like everything about this position was stressing her out. So, I wasn't exactly shocked when she told me that she was quitting, but it does kind of a leave a void in the Panhellenic council, especially in terms of planning for the Greek games. 

"On the bright side," she continues, reaching for her taco again, "her mid-semester departure gives me the opportunity to choose the person who takes her place. I'm hoping that this new person will be on top of everything, and I can step back from the Greek games a bit, because I've got a lot going on with spring recruitment. It would be really nice if this person was already involved with the planning, so that I can hand over the position and let them take charge." 

Ymir finishes her taco. "So who are you picking?"

Historia is mid-chew when the question is posed, and she just turns to stare at Ymir silently, finishing her bite and swallowing as Ymir begins to sweat.

"Ymir," Historia says after she clears her throat. "I'm offering it to you." 

Ymir blinks. "What? Really?"

"Of course," Historia exclaims, setting her taco down. "You're the only person who knows what the hell is going on."

"That's generous." 

"No, it's true," she says. "You've been doing most of the job anyways, so you should at least get to take credit for it."

Ymir leans back, staring at her. "Huh. So, wait, you can just do that? Just appoint someone like that? I thought Panhellenic officers had to be elected." 

"You'd have to be approved by the rest of the Panhellenic council," Historia says as she finishes the last bite of her taco. She crumples up the wrapper in her hands and rolls it into a ball. "But you're basically the only person who could take over, at this point, so they won't have any problems with it."

"You're just gonna make me a Panhellenic officer," Ymir exclaims. "Just like that."

"Yeah."

She purses her lips. "What's the title again?"

"Vice President of Public Relations," Historia explains. "You'd have some other responsibilities, but it's mostly just marketing and social media, especially for recruitment. The Greek games would still be your main focus." 

"Why does that fall under public relations?"

Historia shrugs, rolling her eyes. "It's considered community outreach. I don't know, I didn't pick the titles."

She glances back to Ymir, loose strands of hair falling over her shoulders. "So, will you do it?"

"Uh," Ymir says, staring back. "Sure. I'll do it." 

Historia beams. "Great! I'll do the paperwork and we'll get you officially approved at the next Panhellenic meeting. Let me just write that down..."

She sits up on her knees to grab her planner from her desk, thumbing through the pages to find her to-do list. She scratches the note down as Ymir unwraps another taco, feeling unusually very proud of herself. This promotion may be a result of nepotism, but whatever, she's  _earned_ something, and Historia thinks so too. She deserves a second taco.

"By the way," Historia adds, staring at something in her planner. "I won't be on campus next weekend, because I'm going to Gamma formal, but I think we're on track with our checklist, so it shouldn't be a problem to take two days off."

"You're going to Gamma formal?" Ymir exclaims, nearly dropping her taco. 

Historia glances up. "Yeah. Wait, are you?"

"Unfortunately," Ymir says. She lowers her taco, rethinking that. "I mean, yeah, I am. I was not asked so much as I was coerced, but I'll definitely be there."

"Oh, thank god," Historia exclaims, slamming her planner shut. She drops it on the floor and reaches up to redo her bun. "I was beginning to think that I wouldn't know anyone else there. I think I'm literally the only Zeta who's going."

"Who invited you?" Ymir asks, trying to sound as sly as possible. 

"I'm going with Eren," she says. "Do you know him?"

Ymir furrows her brow. "You know Eren?"

"We went to the same high school," she says. She ties off her loose bun and uses her fingers to fluff it up as she talks. "We weren't really friends until we came to college, but our families know each other, so, yeah."

"He's not bringing Mikasa?" she asks, then shakes her heads. "Never mind, Mikasa once gave me a speech about how stupid fraternity formals are. She would definitely not go." 

Historia frowns. "Aren't they siblings too? Might be weird to bring your sister as your date."

Ymir looks at her. "They grew up together, at least. I think. Didn't you go to high school with her too?" 

Historia smirks suddenly, shaking her head as she glances away. "No, it, was, uh, it was, like, a reform high school."

"...sorry,  _what?"_

"It was that or juvie," Historia exclaims, trying to hide a smile as she turns back to Ymir. "It's not like I did anything  _bad_. I was just an angsty piece of shit when I was fifteen and I may have committed a crime or two."

"Holy shit," Ymir exclaims, dropping her taco. "You're a fucking delinquent."

"I'm not bragging about it," Historia says, barely holding back a laugh. "No one knows, anyways. They cleared my record because I ended up being a good student."

"You're hardcore as fuck. What did you do?"

"Nothing bad," Historia says. She hesitates, then cracks into a giggle. "Okay, fine, I broke into a house with my friends."

Ymir sputters. " _What?"_

"It was an abandoned property! We were just looking for a place to smoke and- look, it's not like anyone got hurt."

"You had to go to a reform high school because you broke into a haunted house to smoke weed?" Ymir exclaims. "Fuck, my ass would have been in prison if I'd grown up in your town."

"That wasn't normal," Historia warns. "My friends got away with everything, but my dad was a city councilor and he knew all the judges, so that's why they came down so hard on me."

"Holy  _fuck_."

"He's a dick," she says. She clears her throat and sits up straight. "Anyways, I'll be at Gamma formal with Eren."

"I can't fucking wait," Ymir exclaims, cracking into a laugh as she reaches for her taco again. "We better get drunk and commit some crimes together."

"I'm not a criminal," Historia insists, but she's laughing too. "Stop making fun of me and give me the last taco."

Ymir tosses it to her with a smile. "It's all yours, you hoodlum." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello i am back and very excited for the final chapters of this fic! updates will be regular through chapter 22, and then there'll be another break during april since i'll be without my computer for a few weeks. posting should resume at the end of april and continue uninterrupted through for the rest of the fic, but i'll let you know if anything changes.


	21. let's get lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously on soul sisters: ymir and historia actually spent time together in this ymir/historia fic. this week: reiner kidnaps ymir to the mountains, and eren shows up again because, you know, someone has to be the butt of the jokes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: ymir almost-accidentally-but-doesn't-really out reiner as trans. she makes a comment about it in front of historia, who has not been shown in the narrative to know that reiner is trans, but it turns out that she does. so it's fine, but maybe worth warning for anyways.

Her planner has never been so full. 

Okay, that's not strictly true. Her planner is  _always_ full (such is the music student life), and last semester, her Google Calendar was constantly exploding with notifications. Maybe it's just that suddenly, her planner seems so much busier than it's ever been because she's actually committed to using a planner now, so the lists of classes and rehearsals and practice sessions now exists on paper and not just in her head. 

Still, it's a neon nightmare. Her hands are drenched in multi-colored highlighter ink that leaves her with flashbacks to being a summer camp counselor, because  _damn_  those kids did not know how to color inside the lines. Yellow is for classes, pink is for Beta, green is for personal practice, blue is for yoga and other miscellanea, and now, she gets to add one more color: purple, for Panhellenic. 

Ymir has never been one for planning, which might explain why she's always been such a terrible student. She will give credit to Beta Alpha Epsilon for whipping her ass into shape in that regard, because sororities are serious about the amount of events they hold. And now that she's been approved as the new Panhellenic Vice President of Public Relations, she has to micromanage her days even harder than before. And it makes her planner look like a fucking nightmare. 

First of all, she has terrible handwriting.

Second of all, she has ruined the good gift of having free time. 

She's used to that ( _such is the music student life_ ), but she'd spent most of the spring semester being blessed in that regard: no morning classes, no night classes, time to take naps in between. She'd spent a lot of her free time complaining about having so much free time, so, you know, it's not like she can really blame anyone but herself at this point. Between regular classes, yoga classes, concert rehearsals, audition practices, Beta events, and Greek games meetings, Ymir has finally returned to the state of being-fucking-busy-all-the-time-and-constantly-feeling-like-she's-forgetting-something. And all of that was before she agreed to spend her next free weekend fucking around in the mountains with the brothers of Gamma Alpha Upsilon. 

Amazingly enough, she had that weekend free anyways. Since she and Historia will both be gone, they agree to finish that week's checklist by the Thursday before, but what's even more incredible is that the music school seems to go dark for three full days: no concerts, no rehearsals, no threatening emails from Dr. Mikkelsen. (In hindsight, she realizes that Reiner probably knew this, so he knew that she'd have no excuse to say no- but the joke's on him. No matter how much she hates frat guys, Ymir would never say no to a free weekend of drinking in a mountain lodge.) Maybe it's just because once April approaches, the semester gets  _real_ and it happens real fast. So taking one weekend to chill out, drink some beer, and challenge Historia to darts sounds like just the thing she needs. 

Ymir manages to cross out every single thing on her planner by Friday morning, and she even makes it to yoga class, where she finds that she can finally touch her toes with ease. She swears that the instructor nearly cries tears of joy.

Still, Ymir has some reservations when Reiner picks her up that afternoon, honking ceaselessly outside of her dorm while she stomps down the stairs with a backpack slung over her shoulder. She distinctly remembers when Reiner returned from Gamma formal last year, haggardly stumbling into symphony rehearsal on Monday afternoon, wearing two pairs of sunglasses (neither in the correct way) and clutching a jumbo size slushie cup. It was not, she found out later, to drink a slushe from, but rather to surreptitiously throw up in during rehearsal. So aside from that, she really has no idea what kind of shit goes down at fraternity formals. 

She gets a better idea when she opens the trunk to throw her bag inside. 

"Is this even legal?" Ymir yells at Reiner, who crosses around from the driver's side to join her. "Are we going to a cabin or to the fucking set of the  _Wolf of Wall Street_?"

Reiner stands next to her, arms crossed. "It's not even  _that_ much."

Ymir continues starting at the three coolers overflowing with alcohol, then turns to blink at him.

"Okay, it's a lot," Reiner admits, car keys jingling as he holds his hands up in surrender. "So just hope that we don't get pulled over on the way there."

"They're closed containers, at least," she says, tossing her backpack into the trunk. Jesus Christ, it barely fucking fits. "That's  _insane_ , but it's legal, right?"

"That's legal, but my bag is full of drugs, so..."

"Amazing. Any specific variety, or have you just got a random assortment going on?"

"I ordered the tasting platter, actually."

Ymir's phone vibrates suddenly, and she pulls it out to discover a series of messages from Bertholdt beginning with: "Reiner Alert. Please keep me updated on the stupid shit he tries to get away with this weekend." She's not sure they should keep a physical record of this weekend's ongoings. 

"This is great," Ymir sighs, heading around to the passenger seat. "If we get pulled over, your white ass can do all the talking." 

"They're not for me," Reiner reassures her as he starts the car. "I'm just the messenger."

"You mean, the mule."

"Yeah, I guess that is the legal definition, huh?" 

"That is certainly what the police will write on your arrest report, yes." 

Friday afternoon is warm and pleasant, although the temperatures promise to drop once they're up in the mountains. She climbs into the backseat of Reiner's car ("obviously Historia will sit back here with me," she says) and kicks Reiner's seat as he ferries them a few block across campus to pick up Eren and Historia outside of the Zeta Chi house. They round the corner just as Reiner is threatening to turn the car around and take Ymir back home, and Historia waves at them from the sidewalk, where she's wearing,  _oh god_ , a flannel shirt under a hoodie. As if Ymir could not get any gayer. 

Eren brings  _yet another cooler,_ which Reiner somehow manages to squeeze into the trunk of the car, sacrificing half of the backseat for their bags, which he chucks at Ymir's face with no regard for her comfort. She rearranges them, grumbling, to make room for- 

"You're not Historia," she exclaims when Eren slides in next to her.

"Sorry," Historia says, climbing into the passenger seat. She leans back to talk to them as Reiner returns to his seat, the alcoholic trunk thoroughly secured, and starts the engine. "I always get motion sick going up to the mountains, so I'm going to sit up front. I'm sure you two will have a great time back there."

She gives Ymir an overly-exaggerated wink as the car begins to pull away from the sidewalk.

"Everyone buckled in?" Reiner asks, glancing at them in the rearview mirror. "Not that it really matters, because we're about to wreck our bodies with toxic substances, but, you know, in case you don't want to die in a fiery car crash."

"I'm not sure seatbelts matter at this point," Ymir says, giving his seat one last good kick. "There's so much alcohol in this car that none of us would stand a chance."

"That's the spirit," Historia chirps.

"Stop kicking my seat or I'm going to dump you on the side of the highway."

"I'd like to see you fucking try, Braun."

Eren puts his headphones in and slumps back with a sigh. He's copping Ymir's brand. Who does he think he is?

The mountain cabin is just a few hours away, but Reiner's music selection is terrible and he talks incessantly for most of the ride, mostly about nothing, or at least nothing that Ymir cares about. He does spend a significant amount of time grilling Historia about her life and winking at Ymir in the rearview mirror, to which she continually gives him the finger. The ride is nice, if not quiet, a winding drive into the countryside and through rolling hills to the mountains. She dozes off at some point, her head lolling against the window of the car, her eyelids drooping.

At some point, the sun comes out again. It burns brightly in the afternoon, casting the golden glow of near sunset over the road, and Ymir comes to once more, blinking into the light. Reiner and Historia's conversation fades in and out over the music: something about last year's Gamma formal, and Ymir remembers now, with a start, that Historia has been to this event before, as Reiner had so eloquently described to her once via text message:

**Text from Reiner**  
she crushed a can of beer on her forehead and blew chad in the pantry

Right. So, this weekend should be interesting. 

The sunset catches on Historia's golden hair as the car speeds southward into the mountain range, and Ymir watches, still dazed, as the light dances and flickers between the soft, silky strands. Maybe Reiner and Sasha are right. Maybe Historia wants the same thing that she does.

A sharp curve in the narrow mountain road jolts Ymir out of her thoughts, and she sits upright, shaking away the thought. She can't do that. She decided already that it's good enough just to be friends with Historia. This year has been hard enough, for both of them, and there's not enough time left in the semester to do anything right. She has to be happy with what she has. 

Temperatures begin to drop as the car climbs higher. It rolls into the cabin's dirt parking lot just as the sun has sunk over the peak, and Ymir pulls a sweatshirt out of her bag to throw on before she gets out. It's supposed to be spring, damn it. Why is there still snow on the ground up here? 

She leans forward over Reiner's seat as he parks the car and glances out the front window to the wood cabin that stands before them, enveloped in the woods on the side of the mountain.

"Wow," Ymir says, blinking. "This is actually a lot nicer than I thought it would be."

"What were you expecting?" Reiner asks, glancing over his shoulder at her. "A cardboard box in the middle of the woods?"

"That's exactly what I was expecting. I mean, no offense, but I've never known a bunch of frat guys to actually plan something well."

"Gamma takes care of our guests," Reiner says, turning off the engine. "Now, everybody grab a cooler, I'm only a mule for drugs." 

They pile out of the car, grabbing their backpacks and the many, many coolers in the trunk, and they begin the trek towards the cabin, hauling their luggage up what feels like two-thousand steps built into the slope. The cabin  _is_  nice, actually; Ymir was expecting something that barely counted as four walls (roof negotiable), but what they have is nearly a lodge: thick, log walls and a wrap-around porch that overlooks the snow-covered valley. It would be rustic if there weren't a dozen frat guys in snapbacks crushing beer cans on the porch. On the other hand, maybe that's what makes it rustic. 

"How the hell does Gamma afford this place?" Ymir asks as they finally near the cabin. She's wheezing after climbing the stairs, lugging a cooler up behind her, hoping that nothing inside breaks. They drop off their alcohol at the front steps where the first shotgunning contest of the weekend has already begun. 

"One of our alumni owns it," Reiner says. He takes one of the coolers from Historia (she's fucking built, Ymir realizes, and has not even broken a sweat) and hands it off to a brother who dutifully carries it around back. "He lets us have it every year for free as long as we don't completely trash it."

"If I remember correctly," Historia says, wiping her hands off, "this place was completely trashed last year."

"You must have different standards of trashed," Reiner says. "What I mean is, he lets us have it as long as we don't burn it down." 

"Sounds about right," Ymir says. "When do we start drinking?"  

They've lost Eren, she realizes as Reiner leads them into the cabin, but no one seems particularly concerned, and Ymir is pretty sure she can hear him getting into an argument with someone downstairs, so he'll be fine. The cabin's interior has already been frat-proofed, which must be part of the alumni agreement: fireworks locked up, decorative antlers put in storage, trash cans established at designated points throughout the house. The main room is obviously going to be the scene of the party, as someone has made himself busy setting up a full bar on the kitchen island. Reiner leads Ymir and Historia up to the second floor, past the bedrooms filled with dozens of cots for their oversized number of guests, and then up a ladder into the attic, where he drops his bag and proudly presents their room. 

"This is the best room in the cabin," he exclaims, gesturing around. "The view is killer."

Ymir winces as she emerges from the ladder and stands upright, the top of her head nearly scraping the ceiling. Reiner resorts to crouching like an animal, and Historia, bite-sized and perfect, walks over to the window as if to mock them and their heights. 

" _This_ is the best room?" Ymir exclaims. She drops her bag and sits down on one of the cots. "You take up half the fucking room with your massive ogre body."

"If we were downstairs, we'd have to share with other people," he says, plopping down across from her. "I had to enter a lottery to get this room for us. It's  _priceless_."

"You couldn't just play the fucking trans angle?" Ymir mutters, leaning back. She pauses, glancing across the room at Historia. "Wait-"

"We had a long conversation on the way here," Reiner says, rolling across onto her mattress to ruffle her hair. "I filled her in. Anyways, I play the trans angle on almost everything else in Gamma, so they wouldn't let me get away with this."

Ymir tries to smack his hands away. "Stop it, you asshole, you're ruining my hair!"

"You've never actually done your hair in your life, Ymir. There's nothing to ruin." 

She relents with a sigh, letting him ruin whatever aesthetic she had going (unpolished is a  _lewk_ , and she was working the hell out of it), before reaching over and pinching his cheek.

"Sorry," she says quietly.

Reiner beams. "Ymir. You're so fucking cute."

"Don't call me cute! I wasn't thinking, when I said that."

"It's fine," he insists, poking her nose. "Everyone else here already knows. And Historia's going to be around for a long time, eh?"

"Stop it!" Ymir hisses.

Historia turns around from the window, where she was leaning outside, her face in the breeze. "Did someone say my name?"

Reiner raises his eyebrows at Ymir. "She didn't even hear."

Ymir sits up, shoving him away, and smiles at Historia as she crosses towards them. "Reiner was talking shit about you."

"I was not!" 

"I didn't know this room existed," Historia says, curling up on the cot across from them. She tucks her feet under her legs and pushes her hair back over her shoulders. "Last year, I was in one of the bedrooms downstairs with twelve other people."

"See?" Reiner exclaims, looking at Ymir. 

"Not that there was much sleeping going on," Historia adds.

Ymir holds up a finger, glancing between both of them. "No one is having sex up here." 

"Who would any of us be having sex with us?" Reiner says. He reaches across the cot to grab his backpack and begins rifling through it. "Unless it's you, of course-"

" _No one_ ," Ymir repeats, " _is having sex up here_." 

She glances around the tiny attic, frowning. "Also, there are only two cots." 

"We're not the fucking Hilton," Reiner says without looking up. "Someone has to share."

"Come on," Historia says, reaching across the shove Ymir on her knee. "It's the full mountain experience." 

"Have you seen him?" Ymir exclaims, gesturing at him. "He's like the fucking Hulk."

"Fine, Ymir," Reiner says as he dumps a bag of weed onto her lap. "You can sleep on the floor."

"I thought Gamma took care of their guests, you liar. Who is this for?"

"We'll make Eren sleep on the floor," Historia says. "Or Ymir and I can share, since we're the smallest."

"Hahahahhahhahahahahahahahhahahhah-"

"For the record, none of these plans matter much," Reiner says, zipping up his backpack. "Chances are, none of us will be sober enough to make it back up this ladder. This is also the room where everyone tries to sneak off and fuck in, so if you do get back up here tonight, be on the lookout."

"No one is having sex up here," Ymir exclaims. "You said this is best room!" 

"Yeah, it's got a great view." 

She rolls her eyes and picks up the bag of weed. "I guess I'll just sleep wherever I pass out. Who is this for?"

Reiner takes it back from her. "That's for us."

"I thought you said you were just the drug mule."

"You've already accused me of being a liar, like, three times today, so just accept it and move on." He sets his backpack aside and heaves himself up onto his heels to clamber out of the tiny attic space. "Come on, let's get this party started!" 

It occurs to Ymir, as they're descending back downstairs to begin the festivities, that this weekend could either be very good or very bad. She's made her peace with Historia and with being Historia's friend- just her friend. She's happy with what she has, but if they're going to be drinking together and sharing a bed and hanging out when all the Gamma brothers are too cross-faded for conversation, then she has to be  _really_ content with their friendship. She has to be honest with Historia: finally and completely.

The party is just beginning in earnest when they make their way onto the back porch. A group of Gamma brothers sets things off by shotgunning a round of beers and smashing the cans onto their foreheads, whooping and hollering into the mountain air. Ymir squeezes through the madness (she's already got one sleeve soaked in beer and it's barely even dark) and follows Reiner into the backyard, where a fire pit is being stoked as the flames of a bonfire build. The brothers stack coolers on the porch, lifting the lids to unveil the  _mass_ of alcohol that they've stocked for the weekend, and someone brings out trays of dinner, including but not limited to hot dogs and marshmallows, all ready to be toasted over the growing bonfire. 

Eren finds them in the crowd, does his duty as host to hand them beers, and then disappears again, yelling at someone to stay away from his shit. Typical.

Historia settles down in a camp chair by the bonfire, glancing around with her eyebrows raised.

"I'm kind of impressed," she says. She cracks open her beer and a bit of foam spills out onto her hand. "You guys weren't nearly this organized last year."

"We received some complaints," Reiner says. He grabs two more chairs by their arms and swings them around to form a half-circle, facing the bonfire. He takes one while Ymir plops down into the other, graciously sucking down half a can of beer in one go. "But the bonfire is Gamma tradition. That's how we begin all of our brotherhood events."

"This is a brotherhood event?" Ymir exclaims when she swallows. "This is just a bunch of guys drinking in the woods." 

"Ymir," Reiner says, gazing at her, "every event is a brotherhood event when you're with your brothers." 

"Ugh. How long before one of these idiots catches on fire?"

"Not long," Historia says. She wipes foam from her lips. "There's always one guy who thinks he can make an Olympic level jump over the open flames." 

Reiner pulls the bag of weed out of his jacket and tosses it to Historia. "Here, you guys chill for a bit. I've gotta go inside and get the ingredients together. The real party will start soon."

Ymir furrows her brow as he disappears through the crowd and into the cabin. "What the fuck is he making?" 

"I don't know," Historia says, tossing the bag of weed over in her hands. "Last semester I went to a Phi Psi formal and they just served me a cup of straight Everclear, so as long as it's not that, I'm fine with it."

"Jesus," Ymir mutters. She takes another sip of her beer. "Well, knowing Reiner, it'll have ten different ingredients and won't even taste like alcohol."

"The better to get drunk with," Historia says. She raises her beer can in a toast. "Cheers, I guess. This is the tamest this weekend will get, so you should enjoy it while it lasts." 

"Cheers," Ymir echoes, and they clink their cans together.

The crowd of people throughout the backyard has begun to settle down with drinks in their hands as they watch two Gamma brothers stoke the bonfire higher. The evening has gotten colder, but the fire makes it bearable. Ymir recognizes most of the brothers that circle through the lawn, and to her surprise, she recognizes a fair number of the brothers' dates too. They're mostly sorority girls, though few Betas are present (and according to Historia, she's the only Zeta), but there are some other familiar faces, at least one of them being a violist who gives Ymir a tipsy wave from across the way. 

"I did hear what you said earlier, by the way," Historia says, catching Ymir's attention again.

Ymir frowns. "What?"

"Upstairs," Historia said. "What you said to Reiner."

Ymir flushes. "Oh, god. You did a really good job at pretending like you didn't."

"I don't think you need to worry," Historia says, then pauses to take another sip of beer. "You're a good friend."

"Aw, shoot, don't make me blush."

"And we did have a long conversation on the way up here," Historia continues, ignoring her. "While you and Eren were snoring in the backseat."

"I was not snoring," Ymir exclaims, although she knows that she definitely was. Eren wasn't snoring, but his angsty rock music was blaring through his headphones loud enough to keep anyone awake- except Ymir, evidently. 

"Fine, I'll let you think that," Historia says with a smile. Her eyes tighten a bit. "And you are a good friend, Ymir. Reiner was telling me all about it on the way up here."

"Oh my god, what was he telling you? You know he's a liar, right?"

"He only said good things," Historia exclaims.

Ymir huffs. "I doubt that."

"We were just talking," Historia continues, "about- uh, a mutual friend that we have, and then we got a little off topic. He just told me that he's had a tough year, and that you helped him through it."

She needs another drink.

"Everyone's had a tough year, I think," Ymir says. "I mean, I definitely have."

"So have I," Historia sighs, shaking her head. She takes a long drink of her beer, head tilted back, and Ymir follows her cue. She could finish her drink just then, but she holds back, remembering the last time she drank too much at a party with Historia.

Historia, on the other end, demolishes her beer and crushes the can in her fist.

"This is a party," she exclaims, leaping to her feet. "We didn't come here to make each other miserable!"

Ymir stares up at her, awed.

"Come on, let's go find the food," Historia says, slapping Ymir on the shoulder as a cue to stand up. "It looks like the bonfire is almost ready for toasting."

"It's more than ready," Ymir exclaims as she rises to her feet, staring across at the huge, flaming fire. "How the fuck are you supposed to roast marshmallows over that?" 

They scour the lawn, Historia in the lead, weaving through crowds of frat bros blowing smoke circles into their dates' faces. Ymir is glad, for the first time, that no man here would dare do that to her. They stumble upon Eren again, who, for some godforsaken reason, has been put in charge of organizing dinner. They make themselves comfortable on the back porch with him, opening another round of beers. After a full five minutes of watching him struggle to tear open a package of hot dog buns, Historia slams her beer into Ymir's hand and rips the pack away from him.

"Oh my god," she says. "I can't watch this anymore. I'll fucking do it."

"It's hard to open," Eren protests as Historia tears the plastic a new one. 

"I don't know, man," Ymir says. She leans forward to peer around Historia and raise her eyebrows at Eren. "Looks like you're just weak."

She squints, sizing him up. "You used to play the violin? What happened to all those music muscles?"

"Playing the violin does not build muscle," Historia says as she slams the hot dog buns onto the table. She reaches for the first bag of hot dogs. "Ymir, start unpacking those skewers. We need to get some food into these people before someone legitimately catches on fire."

"Yes, Madame President," Ymir says, giving a mock salute as she reaches for the skewers. Historia, hands full, shoves her with her hip. "Playing bassoon definitely builds muscles."

Eren stares at him. "You don't even have any muscle." 

"Whatever, man, I do yoga. I've got  _zen_."

Reiner reappears at their shoulders, suddenly a different person. He's like the figure of a Renaissance painting: in one hand, a bottle of whiskey; in the other, a bag of limes; in his mouth, a fuming cigar. 

"You guys are actually going to cook?" he exclaims into Ymir's ear, although it keeps out more like a muffled yell, due to the cigar that he has decided to leave hanging from the corner of his mouth. "No one ever actually makes the food at these things."

"What the hell is that?" Ymir exclaims, glancing over her shoulder at him. She wrinkles her nose. "God, you smell like my grandfather. I have to text this to the Reiner Alert."

"You mean, to Bertholdt?" Reiner says. He sets the bag of limes down and takes the cigar in between his fingers, blowing a puff straight into Ymir's face. Okay, so... there are guys here who would dare to do that to her. "Don't worry, I already sent him a Snapchat. He did not approve."

"Is that even legal?"

"I'm gonna keep a tally of how many times you ask that his weekend," he says as he moves around to the other side of the table, clapping Eren on the back. "It's funny, Ymir, I've never thought of you as a hardass before." 

She narrows her eyes at him as she takes a plate of hot dogs from Historia and has it immediately snatched by a group of hungry Iota Xi sisters (side note, one of them actually blows kisses to Ymir and Historia and shouts "Thank you, Panhel!" and if that doesn't make Ymir dizzy with  ** _P O W E R,_**  then nothing will).

Reiner tucks the cigar behind his ear- while it's still lit, because this weekend is all about safety. "Don't worry, I'm just holding it for Chad." 

"Chad?" Ymir scowls. "Gender studies major Chad?"

"The other Chad," Eren fills in.

"There's another Chad?!"

Reiner sets the whiskey bottle down on the table and perches his hands on the edge, bending over to admire their handiwork. Historia has been furiously hard at work, unpacking cheap hot dog as fast as Ymir can plate them, as fast as they can be torn off the table by random, lightning-fast partygoers. Most of them don't even bother grabbing skewers, which seems problematic, given that the hot dogs are meant to be roasted over an open fire, but Ymir is going to stop questioning every single safety violation that she sees, because she's pretty sure that alone would take up her entire weekend. 

"So, you guys are actually cooking," Reiner repeats. "Nice."

"I don't know about anyone else," Historia says without looking up from her work, "but I'm not keen of anyone dying from alcohol poisoning tonight."

"Huh, I hadn't thought about that."

"What happened to  _Gamma takes care of its guests_?" Ymir sneers.  

"That was before I found out that one of your sorority sisters brought, like, a kilo of cocaine with her, so that kind of put things in perspective for me."

"What?" Ymir exclaims, glancing up from the skewers. "Who?"

Reiner purses his lips. "...Hailey?"

"Who the fuck is Hailey?"

"Maybe it wasn't Hailey," Reiner says. "It could've been literally any other name. I just figure that all bets are off now, so if the police show up then- it was nice knowing all of you."

"That sounds about right," Historia says. "Ymir, we'll steal a car and drive off the side of the mountain."

"Why even drive?" Ymir asks, crumpling up the last plastic package. She tosses it at Eren, who has been meticulously slicing up the hot dog buns in a silence so intensely concentrated that she completely forget he was standing there. "Why not just fling ourselves off into the abyss?"

"You're right," Historia says without looking up. "That's more romantic."

Ymir glances up to find Reiner beaming at her from across the table. She picks up the plastic bag and throws it at him instead. 

"Sounds like Historia is a better friend than me," he exclaims with glee, undeterred. 

Historia finally looks up, her work finished, and she wipes her hands off with a napkin before stacking a few hot dogs onto a plate and reaching across Ymir to grab some buns. 

"What are you making?" she asks, nodding at the whiskey and limes. 

Reiner glances at the limes. "Oh, I don't know. Someone was probably saving them for tequila shots, but honestly, that's so complicated. I think we're just gonna mix a bunch of shit together and see what happens."

"Sounds delicious."

"And nutritious," Reiner adds. He nudges Eren, disrupting the precious bun sacrifice ceremony. "Did Zeke tell you what Mikkelsen said in chamber this week?"

Ymir's gaze shoots over to Eren. "Wait, you know Zeke?"

"He's everywhere," Reiner says. "Everybody knows Zeke."

Someone shouts from the crowd, "Who the fuck is Zeke?"

"Of course I know him," Eren says, his brow furrowed. "He's my brother."

Ymir and Reiner both sputter.

"Excuse me?!" Ymir exclaims. "Wait, Reiner did you know about this?"

"No! What the hell, Eren?"

Eren glances between them. "How did you think that I knew him?"

"I don't know," Reiner exclaims. "You both play violin. Played. You know."

"Eren," Ymir says. "In the, eh, like, five months that I've known you, and among the, maybe, like, five times that we have ever spoken, you have never once mentioned that the worst concertmaster in the history of our orchestra is your fucking brother."

"Why would I bring that up?"

"He's, not, like,  _that bad_ ," Reiner mutters, shrugging.

"Shut up, Reiner."

"We have the same last name," Eren exclaims. "I didn't think it was a secret."

Ymir furrows her brow. "His last name is Jaeger. I know because I have to see it on that stupid plaque outside the concert hall every fucking day for whatever fucking award he got."

"Yeah, so's mine."

"No," Historia says, glancing up again, "you spells your with a Y or something stupid, right?"

"Wait a minute," Ymir exclaims, having a sudden realization that cuts off Eren's indignant response. "Is Mikasa related to Zeke too?"

"What?" Eren says, frowning. "No, he's only my half-brother."

She stares at him. "So, is Mikasa, like... on the other side of the-"

"Oh, the bonfire's ready!" Historia exclaims. 

The bonfire marks the ceremonial beginning the weekend celebration, and it's just as dangerous as foretold. Sparks fly as Ymir and Historia attempt to roast their hot dogs in an effort to have some food resembling a normal meal, but they're put off by the increasingly drunk Gamma brothers determined to leap over the blazing fire and they eventually resign to eating their warm hot dogs on the porch, getting buzzed on the bizarre cocktail that Reiner insisted on making. As Ymir predicted, it tastes alright- which means that it's secretly very strong, and it's not long before the four of them are splayed across the steps of the porch, making running commentary on the idiotic things taking place around them.

"Okay, so Chad's gonna jump over the fire while smoking two joints," Reiner says, pointing to a non-descript snapback-wearing guy. "Everybody ready?"

"Wait, Chad?" Ymir exclaims. "Is this cigar Chad or feminist Chad?"

"Ymir, please," Historia whispers, nudging her in the side. "They're  _all_ Chad."

The night goes downhill from there.

Determined to not let the night get  _too_ out of control (and by that, she means: let Reiner do some drugs, but not too many, because while she's cautious to not let him go overboard, she's also extremely curious to see what will happen), Ymir is somehow tasked with the job of offering alternative hydration opportunities (water), which is pretty hilarious considering she is also drunk herself. But there's a huge package of water bottles stowed in the kitchen, and someone names Ymir as its guardian, which largely means that she has to chase after girls who can no longer remember their own names and force them to take just a mouthful of water. She gets spit in the face a lot. She suddenly has much more sympathy for Bertholdt, who she once tried to push down a staircase when he offered her a brightly-colored shot that turned out to be Gatorade. 

It's just drunks policing drunks, though, so Ymir has no qualms about spitting right back. 

Historia, to her credit, manages to remain largely self-aware, one of the most alert in the crowd, as she somehow gets only moderately drunk and/or high as opposed to everyone else's  _wasted_. Somehow being the key word here, because Ymir is pretty sure they take the same amount of shots. So, it turns out that Ymir might just be a lightweight. 

Historia also takes it upon herself to act as Ymir's foil, promising a joint to anyone who willingly drinks a cup of water. It's destructive, but also fucking hysterical, and Ymir doesn't care anyways if any of these Chads die from alcohol poisoning (she and Historia already have an escape plan, remember- they're going to jump off a cliff together), so she becomes an even worse influence and encourages it. It's Reiner that she's mostly worried about, because she forgets, for like an hour and a half, to text Bertholdt about the party happenings, and then she comes to during a game of darts with twenty-five fucking messages blowing up her phone. 

**Text from Bertholdt**  
ymir  
YMIR  
i need updates  
he sent me a snapchat of a guy with a dart stuck in his shoulder  
please tell me you guys are not that fucked up 

**Text from Ymir**  
chill out

**Text from Bertholdt**  
WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN

**Text from Ymir**  
i was playing darts  
will you chill out?

**Text from Bertholdt**  
did you throw a dart at that guy??

**Text from Ymir**  
no i'm pretty sure he did that to himself 

**Text from Bertholdt**  
h  
how 

**Text from Ymir**  
you should've been here, hoover, this place is insane

**Text from Bertholdt**  
you're not making me feel any better

**Text from Ymir**  
reiner is fine! wasted but fine   
have some faith in him  
remember?

**Text from Bertholdt**  
i am trying but he keeps sending me videos of people lighting their blunts on a bonfire

**Text from Ymir**  
lmao what?? i gotta check that shit out

**Text from Bertholdt**  
YMIR

The cabin is shaking with the bass when Ymir stumbles inside not too long after that, searching for Reiner so she can make him hold up today's newspaper and send a picture to Bertholdt to prove that he's still alive. It's after midnight, and the party has splintered across the entire lot; most remain outside to perform some kind of weird frat ritual over the bonfire, while others have crowded into the cabin's tiny kitchen to crush beer cans on their forehead or to hotbox the even tinier bathroom on the second floor. Historia has challenged Eren to another game of darts, which is going very poorly for him and surprisingly well for her, so Ymir leaves them on the back porch and heads inside, where she finds Reiner chilling on the only couch that isn't occupied by people drunkenly making out. He holds an empty cup in one hand and a pipe in the other. Like, a legitimate Sherlock Holmes pipe. He holds them both out in a welcome gesture when Ymir plops down next to him.

"Welcome to my crib," he says solemnly. He sits up to place the pipe carefully on the top of Ymir's head, then leans back again, dissolving into the cushions. 

She lets it sit there. "Was that you, ten minutes ago, that I saw chug an entire bottle of red wine?"

"It was rosé."

"Oh, that's different."

"And you didn't stop me."

"I did not," Ymir confirms, leaning back into the couch. The pipe slides into her lap. "Does that make me a bad friend?"

"Sure," Reiner says, although she's pretty confident that he does not know what question he is answering. "Hey, I guess I should stop drinking?"

Ymir is halfway through a sip of her beer when he says that, and she raises her eyebrows as she swallows. "You mean, like, tonight? Yeah, dude, I'd say so."

"I meant, like, in general, since that's kind of an explicit instruction on my medication-"

"Wait, what the fuck?"

"-but I'm not going to let labels define me," he finishes dramatically as he pulls himself upright on the sofa. He glances past Ymir, his gaze moving to the back window that overlooks the porch. Ymir turns, following his line of sight, and catches him watching Eren and Historia through the window, their darts came nearly to an end. 

"How 'bout those labels?" he exclaims when Ymir turns back to him.

She stares at him. "What?" 

"You're gay," he says, giving an overdramatic gesture at her with his red solo cup. He points the cup towards the window. " _She's_ gay." 

"She's bisexual, and we're not doing this."

"I think we are."

"Nope."

"You're in love with her," Reiner says, giving her a  _look_ , and she knows that he's just drunkenly saying things, but he does not know how close he really is.

"I  _like_ her," Ymir says, lowering her voice. "I'll give you that much."

"So? Do something about it!"

"I'm not risking that," Ymir exclaims. "Not again." 

"Risking  _what_ _?"_ Reiner echoes. "It's just love."

He's a fucking idiot. 

"I'm not going to make things weird," Ymir insists. "We're already friends, and that's more than I can ask for."

"Oh, come on..."

"If she wants-" Ymir starts, but she cuts herself off, suddenly terrified by the thought that Historia might not actually like her back. She swallows her words and takes another sip of beer. "I'm not going to do anything about it. I've done enough." 

"You're such a beautiful and talented bassoonist," Reiner exclaims, his attention span suddenly dialed down to absolute zero, and he rolls around on the couch until his head falls into Ymir's lap. He stares up at her, reaching to pinch her cheek, though he actually ends up just smacking her in the face. "You're the best bassoonist we have."

"I'm the only bassoonist we have," she says, wrinkling her nose. She shoves his hand out of her face. "What the hell are you doing? I'm not your boyfriend."

"I know, but he's not here and I miss him."

"Get off of me," Ymir mutters, shoving Reiner out of her lap. He is a mountain, and he does not budge. "Go be sad and horny somewhere else."

"Shorny."

"No. Stop."

Someone shouts from outside, sparking a huge cheer that overpowers the loud music and shakes the roof of the house, and Reiner springs upright. 

"They're bringing out the lobster," he exclaims, suddenly wide-eyed again. He stands up and pats Ymir on the head. "Get fucking ready."

She watches, baffled, as he leaps over the coffee table and bursts out onto the back porch, joining in the incessant roaring. "What the fuck is the lobster?" 

The lobster, she learns when she ventures outside to watch the bellowing crowd, is a literal lobster that some idiot bought at a grocery store and brought to the cabin specifically as a vessel to snort drugs, because apparently that is a fraternity tradition. Ymir finds a chair on the back porch to observe these festivities, and she is soon joined by a significantly more sober Historia. 

"These things get weirder every year," Historia says, sitting on the step just beneath Ymir's chair. "I swear, last year, this party was a mess, but, like, a normal mess. This is some next level shit." 

"Yeah," Ymir sighs, watching intently as the lobster is danced around the bonfire. "I'm lost."

They watch in silence for another minute before Historia glances at her and asks, "Want to find something valuable to steal?"

Ymir grins. "Hell yeah, you criminal."

"Oh, shut up." 

The night wears on as the party continues. Ymir is not sure that they ever find something worth stealing (the most valuable thing at this party would be the lobster, and she's not getting close to its fanatic owners), but they find their way back to the attic eventually and fall asleep side-by-side on two of the cots, a tired but comfortable silence finally settling over the cabin. So, not exactly sleeping together. But it's enough for Ymir.

 


	22. you and me alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously on soul sisters: illegal activity. this week: ymir makes a move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter will be up at the end of april. i’m traveling again and won’t have my laptop with me. [pushes up glasses with middle finger like an anime character] according to keikaku, updates will be regular again once i get back.
> 
> also, [i just posted my soundtrack for this fic on tumblr!](http://ackermom.tumblr.com/post/184040115720/the-official-soundtrack-for-soul-sisters-my)

Ymir wakes up when she's smacked in the face with a protein bar. 

"Jesus," she exclaims, jerking out of her reverie.

She wasn't asleep, exactly, because the spring sunrise was peaking across the mountains and into the attic window, spilling a bright golden light across the cot where she lay; she'd been awake for a while, dozing, yawning, depressed about the lack of cell service in the attic, not eager to stand up lest she be too hungover. At some point, when the sunrise had started waxing pink across the walls, she'd watched in her sleepy silence as Historia had crawled out of her cot, dragged her backpack downstairs to the bathroom, and emerged again as a new person, fresh and showered, with a thick plaid scarf tucked around her neck. 

She doesn't see Historia now, as she sits up slowly, rubbing her eyes. But she does see the protein bar that hit her in the face, and the offender who threw it. Reiner is standing on the ladder, his head and shoulders peeking into the attic, and he grins sunnily as she glares at him. He looks remarkably normal considering the amount of substance he consumed last night. 

"Wake up," Reiner says, way too cheerfully. "We're going hiking!" 

"We're going  _ hiking?" _ Ymir echoes, dropping her hands. She throws off the thin sheet she'd been using as a blanket, discovers that she had not changed last night before bed, and grabs her backpack from the corner of the room. "I thought we were on vacation."

"What else do you do in the mountains?"

"I don't know.  _ Relax?" _

He reaches below the attic opening and pulls up a Gatorade bottle, which he also chucks at her. "Come on, Eren challenged me to catch a fish with my bare hands. I have to prove him wrong."

"How the fuck are you awake right now?" Ymir exclaims, clambering out of her cot. She digs through her bag for something new to wear- flannel, flannel, and more flannel- and kicks Reiner out of the way so she can climb down the ladder. "You were out of your mind last night."

He calls up from the second floor as she groggily descends the ladder. "The trick is to stay drunk! That's not actually Gatorade."

Ymir glances at the bottle of bright blue liquid in her hands. "We don't have any fucking coffee?"

He takes the bottle back from her when she reaches the landing. "Hailey just brewed some coffee, if you're going to be such a hard ass."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Ymir mutters, rubbing her eyes. She slings her backpack over her shoulders and starts for the bathroom. "Give me, like, five minutes. Also, I'm 99% sure that her name is not Hailey."

Her name is Hedy, actually, and gives Ymir a high-five when she stumbles into the kitchen after the fastest shower of her life, searching for coffee and maybe something edible besides an edible. 

"I didn't know you were here," Ymir says. Hedy slides a cup of coffee across the kitchen counter to her, and right, it's just hot water and the stale instant coffee that was leftover in the cupboards. But it's better than blue raspberry vodka at ten o'clock in the morning, so Ymir takes it. "Reiner says you brought a kilo of cocaine with you."

"Who the fuck does Reiner think he is?" Hedy exclaims. "It was only half a kilo."

Ymir has never seen her former Beta president quite so disheveled, with the remnants of smeared eyeliner cling to her lashes as she ties her poofy red hair into a knot at the top of her head. And yet, she is absolutely in her element and Ymir thinks, yeah, cocaine makes sense. 

"Oh, only half a kilo. That's different."

"I didn't see you at all last night," Hedy says, mixing her own cup of instant coffee. "I wouldn't have expected to see you at one of these things, I gotta say."

"I'm full of surprises," Ymir says drily as she sucks down the terrible coffee.

"I'll say," Hedy exclaims, waggling her eyebrows. "VP of Public Relations? My, oh, my, you're on the rise."

"I was bullied into it."

"Too bad you're already a junior or you could've run for president of Beta."

Ymir chokes on her coffee. "Do I  _ look  _ like I want that much responsibility?"

"No," Hedy says, stirring her coffee. "You'd be fucking terrible at it."

"I know. That job is 90% public speaking." 

"And speaking of responsibility," Hedy says, turning as Historia wanders into the kitchen, arms crossed over her chest as she yawns. "How hungover are you, Madame President?" 

"Not as much as I thought I'd be," Historia admits. She's tied her hair up into a braid, and she tugs as it now as she takes in the smell of cheap coffee, glancing around. "Oh god, is that coffee?"

Ymir offers her cup. "You want some? It's as bad as it smells."

Historia drinks a full mouthful before grimacing and giving the mug back. "It's not alcohol, and that's all I need right now." 

Reiner meets them in the kitchen, stepping over a guy passed out near the pantry door, and nods at them. "Ready to go hiking?"

Ymir gives him a look. "Is that your hiking outfit?"

He glances down at the outfit in question: denim on denim on denim. It's even worse than what he wore to dinner last week, but it is quite suitable for the mountain environment. Though he still insists on wearing flimsy sneakers. 

"I feel like I could catch a fish in this," he says. He flexes. "It makes me manly."

"You look like Justin Timerblake at the 2001 VMAs."

"Thanks. Everybody ready to go?"

"Is there any actual food left?" Ymir asks as he leads them towards the front door, waving goodbye to Hedy. "Or were those hot dogs supposed to last all weekend?"

"There are some edibles left," Historia offers. 

"Well, as tempting as that is..."

Ymir trails off, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. "You know what? That  _ is  _ tempting." 

Historia pulls a homemade Rice Krispie treat out of her purse and hands it to Ymir without another word. Ymir takes it, raising her eyebrows as she begins to unwrap it. 

"You just had this on you?" she asks. 

Historia shrugs. "They were handing them out like candy. I figured it would come in handy."

Ymir bites into it. "It did. Thanks."

"Don't get too high," Reiner calls, steps ahead of them as they descend the front porch. Eren is waiting for them in the parking lot with a few other Gamma brothers, throwing sticks at each other like young adult men are prone to do. "I'm already drunk, and someone might need to navigate back to the cabin."

"Do I look like I can navigate?" 

"I will navigate," Historia calls back, and when Reiner is out of earshot, treading ahead to meet his brothers, Historia leans over and takes a bite out of the edible. "Navigate, my ass. I didn't come here to be a wilderness DD."

"Fuck yeah," Ymir exclaims. "Let's get lost in the woods."

She takes one more small bite, remembers how long it's been since she's gotten high, then wraps the treat up and hands it back to Historia, who tucks it away into her jacket pocket. They trot off, following the brothers' lead down a trail into the woods, and they're off. 

Despite the cool weather, the walk is more pleasant than Ymir imagined. She's not sure sure would really call it  _ hiking _ , since the trail mostly meanders down a gentle slope through the forest and towards the river, but she's glad of the fresh air running through the trees after being cooped up in that dank cabin all night. She gets warm quickly when the sun peers through the canopy, tracing golden patterns across the forest floor, but it's a cozy feeling, their shoes crunching against the leaves on the ground. The Gamma brothers leading them on the hike have each brought their own "Gatorade" bottle, because apparently Reiner's philosophy is right: the best way to survive the weekend is to stay drunk for the whole time. Still, no one gets completely sloshed while on the trail, and Ymir reaches a comfortable level of high that gets super chill when they reach the river.

They spread along the bank, the forest clearing overhead to create a sunny patch. Ymir hunkers down on a rock perched up from the water, content to just watch whatever antics are about to take place, and is glad when Historia sits down in the grass just next to her. 

"This is actually nice," Historia says. She tucks her knees up and crosses her arms over them, blinking into the midday sunlight. 

"I didn't expect scenic river trails to be part of this frat experience," Ymir says, lounging back against her rock. "And yet, here we are." 

"Here we are," Historia says. "Until we have to go back to school tomorrow."

"Ugh, don't remind me." 

Historia turns to grin at Ymir. "I feel like I'm really going to regret coming here instead of doing my homework." 

"This was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, though," Ymir says. "Watching a bunch of guys do coke off a slowly decaying lobster? Where else will you see that?"

"I mean, I was here last year."

"Did they do coke off a slowly decaying lobster last year?" 

"I think it was shrooms last year." 

Ymir lies back as far as she can, stretching out her arms and legs like a cat in the sun. "I am surprised that you came for the weekend, given that you're probably the busiest person I know."

"You're a runner-up," Historia says. "Don't think I didn't see that planner."

Ymir glances at her. "I can't believe I had to break that thing out. I've gone years without using a planner."

"That's literally impossible."

"I just keep everything in my head."

"You're insane." 

"You're just a better student than me."

"I don't know," Historia says, stretching her legs out. "I did blow off working on my senior project proposal just to come hiking with a bunch of frat guys this weekend."

Their attention is briefly diverted to the river bank, where the frat guys in question are leaping out of the water, shrieking, apparently having felt a catfish brush up against their feet. They watch for a moment, Ymir snickering as Reiner trips over a branch and falls flat on his face, before Historia turns back to her.

"What are you doing this summer?" she asks. "Can I ask that, or will it send you spiraling into a panic attack?"

"I'm not  _ that  _ fragile."

"Really, because that question would send  _ me _ spiraling into a panic attack."

Ymir grins. "I'm choosing not to believe that the semester is almost over. Because I have no fucking idea what I'm doing this summer."

"What'd you do last year?"

"I beat up children at a summer camp."

Historia looks at her. "Sounds like fun."

"I know," Ymir sighs. She squints into the sunlight. "I'm going to end up there again unless I nail my audition for the summer tour." 

"Oh," Historia says. "I forgot about that."

Ymir glances over at her. "I'm surprised you've even heard of it."

Historia looks at her for a moment, silent, then blinks and glances back down to the river. "I've just heard people about it, I guess. You don't know if you're going yet?" 

"I haven't auditioned yet," Ymir groans. "My audition is- oh  _ fuck _ , my audition is next week."

Historia smiles. "Looks like I'm not the only one neglecting my responsibilities this weekend."

"We got everything done for the Greek games," Ymir exclaims. "That has to count for something, right?"

"Right, because that was the most important thing we should have prioritized."

"You're in charge of them," Ymir says. "Madame President."

"Actually,  _ you're  _ in charge of them," Historia counters. "Madame Vice President."

"Oh, fuck," Ymir mutters. "I can't believe you actually made me a Panhellenic officer. You know how insane that is, right?" 

Historia furrows her brow slightly, pulling herself up on the slope to sit upright. Thin pieces of her blonde hair are slipping out of the loose braid on the back of her head, and she pushes them back behind her ears as she looks at Ymir.

"What's insane about that?" she asks, her voice softer. "You're good at what you're doing. You're the only one who actually deserves to have that position."

What's insane is how flattered Ymir is by that comment, but she brushes it off. "It's insane because I'm barely even qualified to be in a sorority, let alone be an officer that organizes all the other sororities." 

"Qualified," Historia echoes, cocking her head a bit. "I feel like we've had this conversation before."

"I know, I know," Ymir exclaims as she sits upright on the rock, pushing herself up with her hands. "I'm allowed to like it and whatever, I know- it's just that, I mean, you said it yourself, I'm not the kind of person you'd expect to join a sorority."

"Maybe not," Historia says. "But you had good reasons for joining your sorority, and that's what matters in the end. Our community is what we make it, not what others think it should be."

That's a nice sentiment, and one that Ymir believes is wholeheartedly true about their Greek community (where the biggest rivalries are over tetherball games and karaoke competitions, not about who has the biggest house or the wealthiest members), but she's stuck on something else that Historia has just said: Ymir had good reasons for joining her sorority, and that's what matters in the end.

In the end- she did have good reasons for choosing to become a sister of Beta, but her reasons for joining were far from genuine. If everything had gone according to plan, then... well, that's not something that Ymir particularly wants to think about, given what she knows now. Things would never have gone according to plan, so it's probably for the best that things ended up they way they did. 

She realizes, with a sudden pit in her stomach, that she has to come clean. 

"You have so much faith in me," Ymir says after a moment.

Historia looks at her. "Why wouldn't I?" 

"Well, can I tell you something?" Ymir asks, sitting up further. She frowns. "I mean- this is something that I  _ should  _ tell you."

She's trying desperately not to think of this as a grand confession that requires some kind of dramatic buildup, because there's really no good way to say it, so she should just spit it out. Quick, channel Reiner! He's really good at inserting random, serious things in a totally casual tone of voice! He came out to Ymir by offering her his leftover tampons after he'd finally stopped getting a period on HRT! 

"I joined a sorority because I wanted to impress you," Ymir says. 

Historia blinks at her. "What?" 

"Yeah," Ymir sighs, rubbing her forehead. "I had this idea that you were, like, way out of my league and when I tried to ask you, that time at the coffee shop, you said you were too busy with sorority stuff, so I put two and two together and figured that, like, if I was in your sorority, then you'd be able to make time for me. And we could, like, date and stuff."

Historia stares at her.

"Sorry," Ymir says. "It was a really stupid idea."

"It's the stupidest idea i've ever head," Historia exclaims. She pauses. "But it explains a lot."

Ymir looks up. "Huh?"

"You were so desperate to impress Zeta," Historia says. "I remember thinking how weird that was when we talked during recruitment, because I thought it was clear that we didn't really vibe as sisters. But, I guess, if you didn't actually want to be my sister-"

"I did," Ymir exclaims quickly. "I mean- not like  _ sisters _ , but- I just wanted to get close to you."

"Well," Historia says, leaning back in the grass, "you got here eventually."

Ymir lets that sit for a moment, as the panicked splashing continues in the river (there are no electric eels in the mountains, those stupid fucking frat guys, what the hell are they so scared of?), before she glances over at Historia again, who seems relatively unperturbed by this revelation. 

"You don't seem freaked out or anything," she says. 

"Why would I be?" Historia asks, barely glancing at her. 

"Maybe I undersold how weird this was," Ymir says, brow furrowed. "I was basically obsessed with you. I literally tried to fake my way into your sorority just to ask you out, because I was too much of a freak to do it like a normal person."

Historia actually cracks a smile at that, the sunlight falling over her face as she looks over at Ymir. "I mean, if I had known what you were doing at the time, then yeah, it would've been weird."

"See?"

"But I don't really care now," she says. "I know you now. And now you know that you don't have to fake anything to be my friend."

She blinks into the sunlight. "Or to date me, I guess."

"Ahahahahahahaha," Ymir barks, turning her gaze back to the river. "Right, I said that out loud."

Reiner is waving at them from the bank, an actual fucking fish in his hands. There's no way he caught that. Ymir refuses to believe that, and it doesn't matter anyways, because as soon as he holds it up for them to see, Eren absolutely dunks on him and sends them both toppling back into the water, the fish disappearing into the void. 

She clears her throat, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her elbows on them. "It's not like that would have worked anyways. I was a total mess during recruitment, and there's no way I was ever going to get into Zeta."

"Oh, come on," Historia says, but Ymir is shaking her head.

"No, you know it's true!" she exclaims, glancing sideways. "You just said that we didn't vibe as sisters."

"I'm only one person," Historia says. "I'm sure you'd get along with some of the other girls."

"I didn't even know what your guys' philanthropy was."

"That's not something we expect PNMs to know."

"No, but it didn't help," Ymir exclaims, shrugging. She hesitates for a moment, then raises her eyebrows and asks, "Is that why I didn't get a bid?" 

Historia rolls her eyes. "Come on."

"Just tell me! I know that you know."

"It's not that simple," Historia says. She turns to sit cross-legged so she can face Ymir, one hand propping her up in the grass on the slope. "I don't think there was any single reason why you didn't get a bid. We all vote the way we feel, and it just ended up that way."

"Fine," Ymir says. She holds up a finger. "But I know that you guys talk about the PNMs before you vote."

Historia scowls, but she's smirking slightly. "How do you know that?"

Siobhan spilled the beans to Marcel a long, long time ago. What happened to them? Ymir files that question away to ask Reiner later.

"Everyone knows," Ymir says. "And I have to say, first of all, I think Beta's voting system is much less subjective, because we had spring recruitment a few weeks ago and we didn't sit in a circle and judge every girl that came in-"

"It's not like we have a roast!"

"That's kind of what it sounds like." Ymir leans in, pouting. "Just tell me. You have to remember something they said about me."

"Fine," Historia says. "But I don't think this is going to come as a shock."

Ymir furrows her brow. "Oh, god. What?"

"We just thought that you were trying too hard."

Ymir stares at her. "That's it?"

"You came off as really fake," Historia exclaims, shrugging. "I mean, the conversation that we had was alright, but other girls said that you didn't seem genuinely interested at all."

"Everything about recruitment is fake."

"But you're really bad at acting. You were trying way too hard to be impressive."

"Of course I was trying hard," Ymir exclaims. "Isn't that the whole point?"

"Look," Historia says, brushing her hair back. "We all know that recruitment is-"

"Stupid? Somehow both a waste of time and not enough time at all?"

Historia smiles. "I was going to say superficial. So don't take it personally. It's not like everyone is a perfect candidate for every sorority. And sometimes it's just one faux pas that can put you at the bottom of the list- not because you weren't well liked, just that... you weren't  _ as  _ well liked as someone else."

She shrugs. "And no matter what else, we can't exceed our quota." 

Ymir sits on that for a minute, then sighs and says, "I mean, I'm not, like, offended. Knowing what I know now, I don't think I would have gotten on very well in Zeta Chi anyways. You guys are kind of..."

She trails off.

Historia grins. "Type A?"

"High maintenance," Ymir offers. 

"We like things a certain way, whereas Beta Alpha Epsilon is a little more-"

"Sloppy? Unrefined?"

"I was going to say chill," Historia says. 

Ymir purses her lips. "That's fair." 

There's a sudden shout from the river, and they both glance down the bank to find Reiner staggering towards them, attempting to remain upright while clambering up the steepest part of the slope. Eventually, he settles for stopping halfway and waving at them with his half-empty bottle of Gatorade... or, whatever the hell is in there. 

"Hey!" he calls, waving at them. "We're going back to try and hotbox the whole cabin. You guys in?"

"Of course," Ymir guffaws, pushing herself up to her feet. "What kind of stupid question is that?"

"He knows that's not going to work, right?" Historia asks. She follows Ymir, wiping the dust and grass off her jeans as they clamber along the slope, headed back to the trail. "Like, the entire cabin?" 

"It's definitely not going to work," Ymir agrees. "But it's not entirely clear that he knows that." 

It becomes evident, after only a minute on the trail, that they are not immediately returning to the cabin. They're led astray by the meandering brothers, headed uphill but deeper into the woods, away from the direction they came, and Ymir is about to accuse them of kidnapping when Eren drifts back to walk with them and informs them that, first, they are venturing off the trail to see a log full of maggots that someone found last night. The maggots better be fucking worth it, Ymir warns, because going off the trail sounds like an even worse idea than trying to catch fish with their bare hands, but Historia is on board, which is somehow both cute and creepy at the same time. 

They wander further into the woods, leaving behind the trail of sunlight that peeks through the forest canopy, and it's not long before they have left the path completely, stepping over fallen branches and through patches of crushed leaves as they follow the group towards the promised maggot log. By now, Ymir is feeling the effects of the edible. It had been so nice by the river that she'd forgotten, for a while, that she was slowly getting high, but it hits her then as they're trampling through the woods. Suddenly, her footsteps are floating above the forest floor, never quite touching the ground, though she's not high enough that she can't remain steady as they continue along the non-path. Historia's feeling a little less magical than Ymir, but she's smiling just as gently, humming softly to herself as she ducks under low-hanging branches. 

It also becomes evident, after more than a few minutes of navigating through the pathless forest, that none of them have any idea where they fuck they're going, and Ymir begins to suspect that the maggot log was a fever dream that someone had last night while they were blazed, dreaming of something interesting to do in the woods besides drinking. Hopefully Historia can actually navigate them back to the cabin like Reiner made her promise that she would. 

Maybe it's the weed, or maybe it's the feeling of being lost in the woods, or maybe it's the short memory of the sunshine on her face while they were sitting by the river talking- whatever it is, Ymir can feel a curiosity nagging at her suddenly, and she's not able to hold back her questions anymore.

"Can I ask you something?" she asks abruptly, turning to glance at Historia, who is walking a few steps behind her, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket.

Historia glances up. "Not if it's anything else about recruitment. I don't want to have to think about that anymore until it's actually here."

"That bad, huh?"

"Oh, you'll get to find out next year," Historia promises. "It's the fucking worst."

"Terrific," Ymir says, tucking her hands into her pockets. "No, it's about something else." 

"Then, sure."

"Why did you forgive me so easily?" Ymir asks. She slows her pace to match Historia's, and they walk side by side through the woods, following the rough path that the brothers are clearing ahead of them.

Historia doesn't look up immediately, and when she does, she's frowning. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I'm talking about, right?" Ymir asks, glancing down at her. "About what happened on Halloween."

"No, I know," Historia says. "But I don't know if I'd call it  _ easy _ ."

"If I were you, I'd never talk to me again."

"That's just ridiculous," Historia exclaims. "All you did was call me a fake lesbian or something."

"...well, when you say it like that-"

"I don't want to hold grudges anymore," she continues, cutting Ymir off. The leaves crunch beneath their feet. "I've held onto a lot of anger in my past, and it's never done any good for me. I had the ability to forgive you, for something you said that I know you didn't really mean, and- it's not like it didn't hurt me, like I told you. But it wasn't worth holding onto."

Ymir can't find anything to say except, "Huh."

Historia glances up at her, a small smile lingering on her lips. "Were you expecting me to say something different?" 

"I don't know," Ymir admits. "I was just wondering what you were thinking."

Historia is quiet for another moment as they continue walking. Then she adds, "It wasn't the worst thing someone has ever said to me."

Ymir looks at her. "What?"

"That was a shitty night," she continues, "but it was not the shittiest night of my life, not by a long shot."

She sighs roughly, taking a moment to collect her thoughts before she continues speaking. "Look, I've had- like, a lot of people in my life who've done far worse than you. You said one mean thing to me while you were drunk, versus someone like, I don't know, my father, who's been a piece of shit to me my entire life. If I have to be angry at someone, it's going to him. But you're not worth that, Ymir. It felt much better than to forgive you, than to take out my pain on you."

Ymir stops walking, and Historia turns around to stare at her when she does.

"Sorry," she says, reaching up to brush back her hair. "Was that too much?"

"No," Ymir exclaims. She blinks. "I mean, that was a lot, but it makes sense."

"I'd rather be your friend," Historia says. "It's easier than being angry anyways." 

"That makes me feel good about myself."

"Well, it should. It's true."

They keep walking, Ymir floating significantly less with this grounding realization, and Historia leans over to nudge her with her elbow.

"Now, tell me one of your secrets," she says, smirking.

Ymir snorts. "I just did! I'm not sure there's anything else to tell."

"Come on, it doesn't have to be that serious. Just tell me something about you that I don't know." 

"What could you possibly want to know?" 

"I don't know," Historia exclaims. She chews on her lip, then glances up at Ymir. "You know what? I don't even know your last name."

"Oh, yeah," Ymir says with a sigh. "It's fine, you don't need to know it."

Historia raises an eyebrow. "It is Buttface or something?"

"What? No, my last name isn't  _ Buttface _ ." 

"If you're not going to tell me, then I'm going to assume that you're Ymir Buttface."

"It's Ymir," Ymir finally exclaims.

Historia looks at her. "What?"

"My last name is Ymir."

"...your name is Ymir Ymir?"

"Yeah."

Historia narrows her eyes, somewhere on the verge between disbelief and outright glee. "Is that traditional in your family?"

"No, it's just that my dick dad thought it would be funny," Ymir says. She kicks a fallen branch out of their path. "And then he fucked off to Costa Rica or something, just to add insult to injury."

Historia contemplates that for a moment, her pace slowing as she stares up into the treetops. Then she sighs.

"If it's any consolation," she says, "my parents named me Historia Christa."

"Yeah, that's still bad, no matter how many times I hear it." 

They waste another half-hour meandering through the woods, tripping over logs and sticks, before someone realizes that the sun has made swift progress across the sky, and it's officially time for the afternoon drinking to begin. Their party manages to turn around, bumping up against each other like train cars colliding, before they start their journey back to the cabin, led by a surprisingly sober-minded and navigationally-skilled Chad, who guides their way with his neon yellow sneakers. 

As predicted, the plan to hot-box the entire cabin does not actually work, no matter how many joints they light up at once, but that seems to be fine with everyone. Drinking games begin on the back lawn around the remnants of last night's bonfire, and inside, they sit back for a chill time, passing their joints back and forth until nighttime falls across the mountaintop. Hedy does manage to uncover some food to make something resembling dinner, and though it's just leftover hot dogs and a few cans of baked beans from the trunk of her date's car, it's the most food anyone has had since last night and that makes it a feast. Reiner takes it upon himself to cook, which, in this case, means dumping the beans into a pot and convincing everyone that yes, it is possible to cook hot dogs in the oven. Whatever, he's more qualified than Ymir, who is determined to remain kitchen-free until she has to graduate and move off-campus and learn how to fend for herself. 

As the night falls, most of the party moves into the backyard, centered around another dangerously high bonfire. The music begins again, pounding through the walls, and Reiner explains, shouting into Ymir's earlobe as they venture onto the back porch with fresh drinks in their hands, that it's tradition to try and break the porch on the last night of Gamma formal. For once, Ymir is actually desperate to see this insane idea work, but apparently the porch is fortified with concrete and indestructible, so she's not holding out hope. Instead, she joins the raucous dancing, only slightly fazed by the way the wood creaks beneath her feet. 

Ymir loses Historia for a while in the chaos that follows. Saturday night is the last night to party, and party they fucking do. Bottles are unveiled from every hidden corner of the cabin, and the shots keep coming. Drinks are spilled, drugs are consumed. Then someone decides it's a good idea to play darts from the rooftop, which results in darts shattering the glasses in people's hands and at least one person falling off the roof.

"He's fine," Reiner exclaims as he and Ymir stumble inside. The door slams behind them, sucked in like a vacuum, and they catch their breath, empty cups in their hands. 

"Dude just did a nosedive," Ymir says. She breaks out into a laugh. "I mean, it was fucking choice, but seriously."

Reiner slings an arm around her shoulders and they waltz into the living room, where they finally reunite with Eren and Historia, who sit cross-legged at the coffee table, apparently engaged in some kind of palm reading. Historia glances up when they come in, and she smirks as a very serious Eren continues tracing lines across her palms.

"What the hell is going on in here?" Ymir mutters, glancing between them.

"He thinks he can see the future," Historia explains.

Eren points at one of the lines on her hands. "You're going to die."

"What an insight," Historia remarks. "Is there an option not to die?"

"Yeah, but you don't have it."

"Jesus," Ymir mutters. She hands her cup off to a snickering Reiner. "I need another drink."

Reiner returns from the kitchen with cold beers for the both of them (thank god, because somehow it got really late and she got really drunk, and she would at least like the option to not die tonight), and then he and Ymir take seats at the coffee table, watching with mild interest as Eren apparently forgets what he's doing, sets Historia's hands down on the table, and reaches for his phone to open a game of Fortnite. 

"Well," Historia says briskly after a moment. She reaches for her cup and frowns at the little bit of drink left in the moment. "That's my fortune, I guess."

"Not very encouraging," Ymir mutters as she leans back against the couch with her beer. "Reiner, what the hell are you doing?"

Reiner is halfway under the coffee table, reaching for something, and he sits up triumphantly when Ymir speaks. He produces a pack of cards with a grin, then unsleeves the deck and slams the cards onto the table in the cup of his hand, straightening them out all at once. 

"We're going to play a game," he exclaims. 

Ymir takes a sip of her beer. "Of course, we are."

"Don't be such a downer. What else have you got going on tonight?"

"I was just going to sit here and drink myself to death, but I guess I can multitask."

"Good," Reiner says as he shuffles the cards in his hands. "Because I challenge you to a game of the King's Cup!"

"The what?" Ymir barks.

He lowers the cards, frowning at her. "Peasants call it Ring of Fire."

"Everyone calls it Ring of Fire," Historia says. 

Ymir gestures to Historia with her beer can, eyebrows raised at Reiner. "Historia is never wrong."

"Fine, then we're playing Ring of Fire," he says. He begins spreading the cards across the coffee table in a ring, making sure that the circle is unbroken. "Can someone get a cup for the middle?"

"I need a refill before we start," Historia says. She heaves herself off the floor, giving a small  _ oof  _ under her breath as her knees crack. She bends down to pick up her cup, then glances around the coffee table. "Anybody else need anything while I'm up?"

Eren chugs the last of his drink and wordlessly passes his cup to her. She takes a whiff and coughs. 

"What the hell were you drinking?" she exclaims, grimacing. "God, I could burn down the whole cabin with just this cup."

"It was just jungle juice," Eren says.

Reiner glances up at him. "The jungle juice that was mixed on the back porch?"

He looks back. "Yeah?"

"You watched them make that, right? It's just, like, five bottles of different flavored vodkas and a jar of moonshine-soaked cherries." 

Ymir reaches for her beer to wash that imaginary taste out of her mouth. "I'm going to die."

"It tasted fine to me," Eren says with a shrug.

"Right, okay," Historia sighs. She takes both of their cups and starts for the back door. "I'll be back in a bit. Wish me luck out there."

She manages to push the back door open just enough to squeeze herself outside, and then it slams behind her as the bodies of the partygoers fill in the empty space, squishing themselves together shoulder to shoulder, the porch continuing to creak under their wild dancing.

Reiner frowns at the circle he's made and begins reshuffling the cards. "She might be gone for a while."

"I hope she can breathe out there," Ymir says, craning her neck to glance out the window. It's not use- the porch is so tightly packed that the windows are blacked out. There's a glint of the bonfire every now and then, or the flash of a cell phone, but otherwise, it's void black.

"She'll be alright," Reiner says. The cards smack against each other as he shuffles them on the coffee table, intently focused. "Ymir, are you ready for your tour audition?"

Ymir sets her beer can down with a  _ clink _ . "Why the fuck are you bringing that up?"

"I'm just asking."

"I'm on  _ vacation _ , dude."

"You're not on vacation, you're drunk in the woods."

"Whatever. I specifically came here so I wouldn't have to think about that for one weekend." 

Eren glances up at her. "I've heard you mention it at least ten times."

"Because I'm freaking out about it, man," Ymir exclaims, glaring at him. "That's why I didn't want to think about it anymore." 

"Well, you've made me think about it," Reiner says. He slams the cards together into one deck and thumbs through to see his work, then frowns and begins shuffling again. "Just thought I'd ask you, as payback for reminding me that I haven't practiced enough." 

"There are a surprising number of people here willing to listen to me complain. I mean, they're all drunk, so they probably have no idea what I'm talking about, but they still listened." 

"You mean Historia?" Reiner asks, then glances up with a grin as Ymir scowls at him. "Yeah, I bet she'd listen to you complain about anything."

"She said she's already heard of the tour, anyways," Ymir says, ignoring him. She sits forward, scooting up on her knees, and taps her fingernails against her beer can. "I mean, I guess that's not, like, that surprising, since I've probably complained about it to her before, but still. Not even my mom knows about the tour."

She pauses. "Oh, fuck. My mom is gonna be so pissed if I get into the tour."

"What?" Eren exclaims, wrinkling his nose. 

Ymir takes a sip of beer. "She made me Skype-watch all of Shark Week with her last year while I was at camp, but if I'm in Europe this summer, she's gonna be pissed that I can't tune in. Did you know that I've developed an irrational phobia of sharks because she's made me watch that shit all my life?"

"Fear of sharks sounds rational to me," Reiner mumbles without looking up from his cards.

"Really, Reiner? How many times in your life are you going to face a shark versus, say, a fork in a toaster?"

"Okay, first of all," Reiner exclaims, glancing up at her, "if you're sticking a fork in a toaster, then that's your own fault."

"How else am I supposed to get my damn English muffin?!"

"I'm not talking about your mom," Eren exclaims suddenly, sitting upright. "I meant, why wouldn't Historia know about the summer tour?"

Ymir glances at him, frowning. "Because it's an obscure aspect of university life that she would have no reason to know about?"

"No reason?" Eren echoes. "Wait, did you go on tour last year?"

"I just said, Eren," Ymir exclaims, "that I was Skype-watching Shark Week with my mom last summer. Wait a minute, you're not a music student either. How do you know so much about the tour?"

"I  _ was  _ a music student," Eren sneers.

"Before you dropped out."

"And Zeke was on the tour last year, so I had to hear all about it when he got home." He hesitates for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly as he watches Ymir. "But I guess, if you weren't there, then-"

"She just said that she was watching Shark Week, Eren."

"I know that! I'm just saying-"

"Historia's probably heard you complain about it before," Reiner says as he spreads the cards out in another circle. He stifles a yawn, then glances up at Ymir. "You're been complaining about your audition for weeks."

"Well, I'm sorry," Ymir hisses, slamming her beer can down. "It's just that I'm  _ terrified  _ of Dr. Mikkelsen, and I feel like I have every right to be after all the shit he's put me through!"

"I thought you were on his good side now," Reiner says. He frowns. "You took my place there. You put me on his shit list."

"You put yourself on his shit list," Ymir says. "I mean, I guess I'm on his good side now, if being on his good side means that he has absurd expectations of my goals and abilities."

"That's exactly what it means."

"Well, fuck, then I guess that's where I am." 

The front door swings open with a stark breeze, and they all glance up with a start, Ymir swearing under her breath. Historia steps inside, three cups balanced in her arms, and kicks the door shut with her foot before she comes full into the living and lets out a huge breath. 

"It's crazy out there," she says. She sets an empty cup in the middle of the card circle, then passes one drink to Eren and crosses to the other side of the coffee table with her own drink. "How long was I gone? I feel like I crossed into another dimension."

"You did," Ymir says. "We've been waiting for three years."

"Well, we can start now," Historia says as she sits down. "Shall we fill the king's cup?"

"See?" Reiner exclaims. "People do call it that."

"She's just talking about the cup, you asshole, not the game." Ymir reaches for her drink as the other three do the same, and they each make the same disgusted face as they simultaneously pour a small amount from each of their drinks: beer, liquor, and a maraschino cherry fall into the cup. "Jesus Christ."

"Terrible," Reiner agrees, setting his beer down again. He drums his hands on the table. "Alright, who's drawing first?"

The party carries on through the night. They play card games until the early hours of the morning, and then it's off to bed for a bit until they have to leave after the sun comes up. No one actually makes it to bed that night, but there are plenty of pillows and blankets to splay across the floor of the living room, and eventually, the whole room is covered with snoozing partygoers, turning down to sleep after one last drink, one last joint, one last hurrah before they have to return to campus for the end of the semester. The end's not quite in sight yet, but it's beginning to dawn on the horizon. Ymir, at least, lies awake for a while, wondering about what the future will bring. 

And she decides something while laying on the quiet cabin floor, Historia snoring gently on the pillow next to her. If she is going to be honest with herself, with Historia, then she should be fully honest: about her choices, about her dreams, about her feelings. 

Ymir is almost asleep when the sunrise hits her face; it shines through the tall cabin windows, laying golden light across the wooden floor, and it brings her back to life, blinking into the new light of day. She yawns, rubs a hand over her eyes, and comes to, finding herself lying face to face with Historia, who wakes slowly, blinking back at her. 

"Hi," Historia mutters, waking. 

Ymir smiles. "Hi." 

"What time is it?"

"I dunno," Ymir mutters. She fumbles for her phone, hidden somewhere in the mass of blankets strewn across the cabin floor, then gives up and tucks her hands back under her pillow. "The sun just came up."

"Mm," Historia mumbles. "Too early." 

"We still have a few hours before we have to leave," Ymir says, holding back a yawn. "You should go back to sleep."

"Alright..."

Ymir watches as Historia's eyes flutter shut. She's quiet for a moment, wondering, and then she clears her throat.

"Hey, Historia," she says softly.

Her eyes open. "Hm?"

"We're having our formal next weekend," Ymir says. "You should come with me."

Historia's gaze clears, and she shuffles on her pillow, watching Ymir. "To Beta's formal?"

"Yeah. I mean, only if you want to." 

"I'd love to go with you," Historia says. The sunrise blooms across her face, and she's smiling.

Ymir smiles back. "I was hoping you'd say yes. Now, go back to sleep."


	23. paint me up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously on soul sisters: how to smash puss like the frat star you are. this week: ymir and historia steal a car.

Suddenly, somehow, the semester is over.

Maybe that's an exaggeration. There are weeks left, but not enough weeks. There are weeks of auditions, concerts, exams, and, of course, Greek Games. There's time left in the semester, but not nearly enough time. Time for  _ what _ , Ymir is not exactly sure, but she knows that the end of the semester means changes, and she feels like she has just gotten her footing for this year. Summer may bring freedom from class, but it also brings the cross-European tour, the impending responsibilities for next fall since she's now a panhellenic officer, and her promotion to senior, which will only be followed by more uncertainty: her senior recital, her graduation, her future. 

Suddenly, all of that is not so far away. 

She's trying not to let the future scare her anymore; after all, this year turned out wildly different than she expected, better and crazier than she could have ever dreamed, and it seems like she'll be headed in an unexpected direction for a while, with the way things keep surprising her. Uncertainty is one thing Ymir can be sure of, so she's putting her faith in the unknown and letting it guide her towards the bigger, the better, the best. 

"And that's where I am right now," Ymir finishes with a sigh of relief. "I've learned a lot this year, so I'm ready to just see where life takes me." 

Dr. Mikkelsen sits shrouded in the darkness of the unlit concert hall, couched among stacks of evaluations and shuffled sheet music; and yet, his glare manages to pierce all the way across the room to where Ymir stands on the stage, sweating under a spotlight, her bassoon nestled comfortably in her arms. There is a brief moment of silence as that glare attempts to destroy Ymir and everything she stands for- she wonders, for a second, if she has botched another audition, because maybe it wasn't a good idea to open with an emotional recap of her entire year- and then Dr. Mikkelsen sighs, dropping a pencil onto his lap desk.

"I don't get paid enough to be your therapist, too," he says. "Are you going to audition or not?"

From the darkened front row where the other students sit, waiting for their auditions, Bertholdt gives Ymir a thumbs-up. 

"Yes," Ymir says. She pulls her bassoon upright in her arms and rolls her shoulders back, then cocks her head to one side to crack her neck. "I am going to audition. I just wanted you to know-"

" _ Or not?" _

"I'm auditioning," Ymir screams, nearly choking on the double reed as she shoves it between her lips. "Here I go." 

Her audition goes well. At least, she thinks it goes well. She doesn't completely blow it, which, given her history of tour auditions, means that this is probably the best she could have hoped for. So it's just a waiting game now, checking her inbox everyday until that fateful email shows up to announce Dr. Mikkelsen's final decision on her admission to the tour.

In the meantime, she has plenty to do. Historia was not kidding about the amount of work involved for the Greek Games past spring break, and as promised, Ymir spends several hours that week chasing fraternity presidents across campus to obtain their chapters' liability waivers for the sporting events. She also has the immense pleasure of meeting her fraternal counterpart for the first time: some asswipe named Brian who serves as the fraternity council's outreach coordinator, and by  _ serves _ , she means  _ does absolutely nothing at all _ , and by  _ immense pleasure _ , she means  _ he's a fucking nightmare and God she understands now why the sororities have to do everything by themselves _ . 

Between that wild good chase and the frantic rehearsals for the year's final concerts, Ymir is as busy as she's ever been, if not busier. Although it turns out that having a well-organized planner really does keep her focused. Who knew? 

And that makes it all the more exciting when her busy week is finally over, and it's time for yet another party. This one, she hopes, will be different. Sorority formals are puritan compared to fraternities'; instead of a drug-fueled weekend trampling through the mountains, the Betas will be dressing up to get down in the ballroom of a local country club. It's dance, really, though everyone protests when Ymir tries to call it that. Still, that's all there is to it- drinks and apps, sure, but mostly just a college prom.

Beta formal will be different too, because this time Ymir has a real date. Historia said yes with the sunrise in her hair, and they'll walk into that ballroom side by side. Whether or not it's strictly a date or if they're just going as friends is a question that remains unanswered, but for Ymir, it's fine to not know for sure. She's here to have a good time, not an existential time. The one thing that's a bit unfortunate is that, really, it's just a dance. And that means dressing up, which, for a person like Ymir, has traditionally meant concert blacks. She's not too worried about her looks anyways, even at college prom, so she figures she'll throw on whatever black dress is clean and call it a day. 

Apparently, this is offensive. 

"Do you remember when you went through recruitment?" Reiner exclaims upon hearing this idea. "Do you remember how long you spent picking out your outfits?"

"I was trying to bribe my way into a sorority," Ymir wheezes. "What does that have to do with anything?"

She has just suffered a devastating turn of events by running into Reiner at the gym on Friday morning after her yoga class, which means that she has been coerced into another hour of physical exertion (and reminded why no one works out with Reiner- no one can  _ keep up _ ). She's sweating from every crevice of her body and time is slowly running out between this and her next class, so unless she wants to show up half-dead and drenched, she needs to escape and take a damn shower. Or she could skip class. It's just orchestration. Yeah, she's going to skip.

Reiner hands the kettlebell back to her. "You weren't just trying to bribe your way in. You were trying to impress Historia. Now you're actually going out with her and you won't even put in an effort?"

Ymir has no idea what kind of workout this is, so she just takes the kettlebell and heaves it around in a lame imitation of the exercise that Reiner has been doing flawlessly. "Okay, first of all, we're friends."

"You're in love with her."

"Keep your voice down, you absolute madman," Ymir hisses, shoving the kettlebell back at him.

"You said it!" 

"I said, I like her," Ymir says, although she silently concedes his point to herself, because who is she kidding? She's been in love with Historia Reiss this whole time. "And anyways, you're arguing against your own logic. I'm already going out with her. I don't need to impress her anymore."

Reiner switches out the kettlebell for a medicine ball and gets down on the mat, motioning for Ymir to sit across from him.

"Absolutely not," she says flatly.

"You have a pretty weak core for someone who does so much yoga. Come on, just a few reps."

That's a trick and she knows it, but she sits down anyways. She huffs, trying to catch her breath, as they interlock their feet and Reiner begins crunches, then sits up and passes the ball over to her.

"Maybe you don't need to impress her," he says as Ymir falls onto her back, crying on the inside. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't look nice. You can't just wear whatever you wore to your audition this week."

Ymir's abs scream as she sits up with the medicine ball. "That's a great idea, thanks."

"No," Reiner protests, catching the ball that she attempts to throw at his face. It's too heavy; she has to pass it like a wimp. "You have to find something nicer. Don't you want to look good in all your cute couple photos?"

"Excuse you, I'm on the cover of a magazine. I  _ will  _ look good."

"Historia will look better than you."

Ymir catches the medicine ball that he heaves at her chest. "Historia will always look better than me."

Reiner is smirking when she comes back up from her crunch. "And I'm always going to look better than you, but does that mean you have to settle for less?"

She lobs the ball at him. "Fuck you."

"Come on," he says. "Do it for her."

"Fine," Ymir exclaims, rolling her eyes. She sets her arms across her knees and sighs, winded. "I will find something nicer to wear, since it's so important to you."

He does have a point, but it's one that Ymir will  _ not  _ concede, at least not out loud. Besides, formal is only a day away. Finding something nice may be easier said than done, especially since her freakishly long frame eliminates most of her friends' closets. She'll ask Hedy if she can borrow something. That bitch has so many clothes, so there has to be something that will fit Ymir.

Reiner sets the medicine ball aside (thank god, are they done?) and unlocks his feet from Ymir's, leaning back on the mat. Ymir reaches for her nearly-empty water bottle and sucks down the last few drops, before wiping the sweat from her brow and glancing across the mat at Reiner.

"How are you feeling about the tour?" she asks, since it's her turn to probe.

He shrugs. "A little sad, but I think it was the right call. I need to take some time for myself this summer."

"Have you found a job yet?"

"Have I found a short-term job that will let me take two weeks off to get top surgery?" he asks. "No."

"You could always teach."

Reiner sighs. "Parents are always looking for piano tutors, but I don't know how much of that I can take. They are the worst clients."

Ymir raises an eyebrow. "The kids, or the parents?"

"Oh, the parents, definitely." He gets to his feet, stretching his arms across his chest. "Maybe I'll just sell drugs instead."

"Well, you already have mule experience." 

She doesn't get to skip orchestration after all, because Reiner releases her from gym hell after that and she still has enough time to make herself look like a decent person again, so really, there's no excuse not to suffer through that class. She has American Sign Language afterwards, which is an improvement only in the sense that Ymir has managed to become the best student in the class; that's only been accomplished because Sasha has created an "ASL Word of the Day" text chain just for her. So she may not understand the syntax or grammar, but she does know how to sign "Jean is a fart," and if that isn't an A worthy achievement, then Ymir doesn't know what is. 

After class, Friday night devolves like it normally does: dinner with Sasha at the $1 pizza place downtown, followed by an overpriced craft beer at the evening farmer's market before they return to the Beta house to raid Hedy's closet for Ymir's formal outfit while she fields texts from both Reiner and Historia, only one of whom is saying anything important (hint: it's Historia). Ymir is forced into a makeover montage against her will, which ends quickly after all of Hedy's dresses fall off her body.

"It's not my fault you're so skinny," Hedy sighs when Ymir lifts her arms and literally lets a strapless dress drop to the floor. "You do so much yoga, isn't that supposed to give you an ass?"

"I have an ass," Ymir exclaims, which they all know is a lie. "And why does everyone think that I do so much yoga?"

"Uh, you're there, like, every other day."

"I'm there three times a week."

"Right," Hedy says, tossing the dress onto her bed, where it falls into an enormous pile of clothes they've already tried. "Every other day."

Sasha sits at Hedy's desk, tossing handfuls of popcorn into her mouth (where did the popcorn come from? why is life in a sorority house so weird?) and glancing up every so often to offer an opinion. She swallows her latest mouthful and adds, "Maybe Signe has something to fit you. She also looks like a stick."

"I do not look like a stick!"

"You're right," Hedy says, immediately moving back to the closet. She flings open the other door, revealing her roommate's hanging wardrobe, and begins rifling through the clothes. "Signe's not even going to formal, so she won't care if you borrow something. Oh, she just bought this! Try it on."

The garment she flings at Ymir is a terrible, striped, clowning catastrophe of a jumpsuit- until Ymir puts it on and realizes that it's probably the most fashionable piece of clothing she's ever put on her body. To top it off, it actually fits her; the shoulder straps are just tight enough, the wide legs just long enough, and, for the first time in human history, it's not wickedly uncomfortable in the crotch. Amazing. 

"Oh my god," Sasha exclaims, lowering her bowl of popcorn. She points at the low-cut neckline. "You have boobs."

Ymir points at her face. "Eyes up here, Braus." 

"That's the best one so far," Hedy says, shuffling Ymir over to the full-length mirror. She stands behind her, adjusting the straps and the loosely tied belt, nodding in approval. "What shoes would you wear with this?"

Ymir glances down. "I dunno. Black?"

" _ Black?" _

"I only have one pair of heels, and I only wear them to concerts." 

Hedy sighs. "Well, at least I got you this far. Do me a favor and do something with your hair." 

"I'm not getting married," Ymir exclaims, turning around to face the room. Damn, the jumpsuit even swirls the right way. Will Signe notice if she borrows this forever? "It's just a formal."

Sasha rolls her eyes as Hedy scoffs, crossing the room to return things to their hangers. "Just a formal, Ymir? We're doing all of this for a reason, right? Who are you trying to impress?"

"I'm not trying to impress anyone," Ymir insists at the same time that Sasha exclaims, "She's bringing Historia as her date."

Hedy whirls around, the dress in her hands swinging wildly as she spins. "Historia?! Historia  _ Reiss?! _ "

"We're friends," Ymir bellows. 

"Get ready to be more than that," Hedy yells back, slamming the hanger onto the rack. “You better let Sasha do your hair and makeup tomorrow night, or you’ll have to face me. I’m not letting you fuck this up, Ymir!”

“No, please, come on-“

Resistance is futile, because Hedy is a woman of her word and Ymir does not want to face her wrath. So she stumbles across campus on Saturday afternoon in her only pair of heels (black, as promised), tugging along her borrowed jumpsuit and a small bag containing her scarce collection of makeup products. Annie’s apartment has been designated the official “get ready together and also pregame” meeting point, and Ymir is abducted the moment she steps inside. Sasha drags her to the bathroom, plops her down on the stool, and proceeds to scoff at every makeup product she owns before she begins grudgingly, but actually, working on some kind of makeover, with the limited help of Mikasa, who mostly just stands in the doorway with perfect winged eyeliner and makes running commentary. Ymir ends up with a look that is much more reserved than she was expecting, considering that Sasha’s lipstick is a blinding bright red to match her dress, but then again, she supposes it’s a testament to how well they know her. Or at least, how far they are willing to test her limits. So help her god if anyone tries to put lipstick on her.

They move into the living room and pour themselves drinks while a movie runs in the background. Annie joins them, emerging from her bedroom in a lacy black dress that shines under the overhead light and flows above her ankles. Sasha finds a deck of cards to begin a low-stress drinking game, and Mikasa, who has been lounging around in full hair, makeup, and a pair of sweatpants, disappears to get dressed.

“I’m proud of you for going stag to formal, Sasha,” Annie says as she pulls a card. She lays it down on the table- six for chicks- and they all take a sip of their wine. “That’s the way it should be done.”

“You’re not going stag,” Ymir says, raising her eyebrow.

Annie glances at her. “No, I’m going with my girlfriend, and that’s the best possible way to do anything.”

“Noted.”

“Don’t make it sound like I’m some kind of hero,” Sasha exclaims from the sofa. She’s taking up the entire couch to let her toenails dry, because for some reason she had to paint them five minutes ago and not any time earlier in the day; she has to reach down to the coffee table, where Annie and Ymir sit cross-legged, to draw her card. “I just didn’t want to spend the whole night with some guy hanging onto me.”

“So, you didn’t want to hang out with Jean?” Ymir asks.

Sasha rolls her eyes. “Not necessarily. I mean, yes, he’s the only guy I would have asked, but it’s not about him.”

“Sure, it’s not.”

Annie points at Sasha. “You have to drink.”

“Wait, what?”

“I’m the question master,” Ymir says, suddenly remembering the rules of this game. “You answered, and now you have to drink.”

Sasha huffs, but she takes a sip of her wine anyways. “Not fair. I can’t hear the inflection in your voice.”

“It is about Jean, though, right?” Ymir asks.

“It’s not all about him,” Sasha says, setting her wine glass down. “I mean, Olive Garden was kind of weird and we haven’t gone out since, so-“

“Drink,” Annie exclaims.

Sasha throws her card at Ymir and takes another drink.

“Speaking of dates,” Annie says as Ymir takes her turn to draw a card. “Where’s Historia? You gave her my address, right?”

“Of course I did,” Ymir says, setting her card down. Eight is for mates. She points at Sasha, her designated drinking partner, and they both take a sip, though the intensity of Sasha’s eye-rolling increases tenfold.

“And it was the right address?”

“Yes! I mean, I think it was.”

Annie gives her a look.

“I gave her the right address!” Ymir exclaims, tossing aside her card. “She said she was going to get ready at her own place, so she’ll be a little late. She’ll be here.”

“We’re leaving in thirty minutes,” Annie says as she reaches for her wine glass. “Is it my turn?”

“I don’t know, is it?”

“You can’t get me with that,” Annie says, then immediately winces. “Damn it!”

“Ha,” Ymir exclaims with a grin. “The question master strikes again!”

Her wine glass is nearly empty and she’s just about to pour herself some more when Mikasa appears out of the bedroom, long black gown swirling at her feet, and snatches the bottle out of Ymir’s hand.

“Hey,” Ymir protests, staring up at her weakly. “I was drinking that.”

“You’re a panhellenic officer now,” Mikasa says. She deposits the bottle on the other side of the coffee table as she passes Annie, who lifts one hand up to run across the silky fabric of her long dress as she walks. “You can’t be schwasty in public.”

“I’m not going to get schwasty,” Ymir insists, beckoning with her sad, empty wine glass, but Mikasa is still shaking her head.

“You and I have a responsibility to our community,” she says, plopping down on the end of the couch. “We’ll get drunk later tonight.”

Sasha reaches for the discarded wine bottle and helps herself to a second glass, giving Ymir a big wink. “Don’t pout! I’m sure your date will say the same thing.”

Ymir scowls, even though she knows they’re right. It’s not like it’s encouraged for anyone to get drunk at a formal, but it’s a huge no-no for officers, since they have a position attached to their name (and their behavior). Historia will probably tell her the same thing when she gets here. Well, whatever, they’re coming back for an afterparty.

Annie glances up at Mikasa as she reaches for a card. “You look hot, babe.”

Mikasa tugs at the high-neck of her dress. “I’ve been wearing this dress to formals for three years now.”

“And you look hot in it every time.”

“Aw,” Sasha sighs suddenly, gazing at them. “Now I remember why people bring dates. I don’t have anyone to tell me how hot I look.”

They all immediately scream at her about how good she looks, as required in the first article of the international girl code, but the compliment session is cut short by the startling chime of Annie’s doorbell.

“That’s Historia,” Ymir exclaims, leaping to her feet. She nearly knocks her wine glass off the coffee table, and Annie scoffs. “Okay, you know what, Mikasa? Stopping me at one was a good call. I’m already a disaster.”

Annie’s front door sits in an isolated outlet just around the corner, out of sight from the living room, and thank god for that, because Ymir is sweating like a clown in church when she goes to answer the doorbell (clowns are the agents of Satan, and everyone knows that). She takes a few quick breaths, trying to steady herself, and then she pulls the front door open, the cool night air rushing inside. Historia glances up from her phone when the door opens, the light from the apartment spilling across her frame, and she splits into a smile, her lips tinted pink.

“Hi,” she exclaims. She tucks her phone into the small clutch in her hands and glances up at Ymir. “So, this is the right place.”

“Yeah,” Ymir says. “Hi.”

From the living room, someone shouts, “Tell her how hot she looks!”

Honestly, Ymir hates her friends and they’re going to ruin her life. But Historia does look hot- like, she’s Historia Reiss and she’s wearing a tight black dress that leaves her slender shoulders completely exposed. Of course she looks hot. What really gets Ymir, in that next breathless moment as she’s stuttering, trying to think of a way to simultaneously tell her friends to shut the fuck up and reassure Historia that yes, she does look hot, is the pair of holographic pumps on Historia’s feet.

“Wow,” Ymir says, glancing down. “Those are…”

“I’ve never worn them,” Historia explains, lifting one heel into the light to let it sparkle. “I figured tonight was a good time to break them out.”

“I like them,” Ymir reassures her. She looks at her own shoes. “These are the heels I wore to my high school graduation.”

“Durable,” Historia says, nodding. “Those were a good investment.”

Laughter peels from the living room, and her gaze shifts past Ymir’s shoulder; from the doorstep, the only view is of the kitchen, so she glances up at Ymir with a raised eyebrow.

“Is everyone here already?” she asks, gesturing inside.

Ymir steps aside to let her in. “Oh, yeah, sorry, come in. We got here early to get dressed, but we’ve still got a little time before we have to leave.”

Historia reaches up to pat her elaborately braided hair as Ymir closes the door, and there’s a moment of silence there, in the little outlet by the door, before either of them turn the corner into the living room. Historia is smiling at her, and if Ymir didn’t know better, she’d say that Historia looks- nervous?

“I feel like I’m about to meet your parents,” Historia whispers, containing a giggle.

Ymir barks with laughter. “These people are much cooler than my parents. Sorry, that probably doesn’t make you feel better.”

“It does not,” Historia confirms. She pats Ymir on the arm. “Come on, introduce me to your mommies.”

“As long as you never say the word mommies again.”

She leads Historia into the living room, where they are greeted by a chorus of hellos and some overly-exaggerated winks (honestly, could her friends not be embarrassing for one god damn minute). Sasha sits upright, her painted toenails thoroughly dried, and makes room for Historia on the couch, though she’s grinning over her wine glass like a Stepford wife as Ymir and Historia sit down.

“Stop doing that with your face,” Ymir says, frowning at her. “You look like a clown.”

“I know how much you like clowns.”

“I do not, and you know that that.” Ymir gestures around the coffee table, making introductions. “Everyone, this is Historia.”

“Oh, yeah, hi guys,” Historia says, giving a small wave. “I actually know everyone here.”

Ymir glances at her. “What? How?”

“I don’t know. Sorority life?”

“It’s because Mikasa knows everyone on campus,” Annie explains, reaching for her wine glass. “That’s how we met.”

“Being a chapter president will do that to you,” Mikasa grumbles. She reaches for the wine bottle and holds it out. “Historia, would you like a drink? All we have is $3 white wine from the 7-Eleven across the street.”

“I’m good for now,” Historia says, sitting back on the couch.

Mikasa looks at Ymir. “See?”

Ymir drains the last drop of wine from her glass and sets it aside. “You didn’t exactly sell that wine, Mikasa.”

“Some of us are going to get drunk tonight, fair warning,” Annie says, reaching for another card. “I think I just took my turn, but I’m going again and none of you are going to stop me.”

“If anyone asks,” Mikasa calls as she carries an empty wine bottle into the kitchen, “I didn’t know about this.”

“We’re definitely sober,” Sasha yells back. She raises her wine glass in a toast to Annie, then turns sideways to face Historia. “Sorry, have we met? I can’t remember.”

“I’m pretty sure we have,” Historia says. “I think we met at a party or something.”

“Did we?” Sasha exclaims in an overly surprised and unconvincingly fake way. Her gaze slides over to Ymir, who is glaring at her. “Well, I’ve heard a lot about you!”

“Aw, have you?”

“Isn’t it almost time to go?” Ymir exclaims.

Sasha frowns and reaches for her phone. “No, I think we have a few more- oh, damn it, that was a question!”

They manage one more round of the card game before they have to leave, and then it’s out into the cool spring air, clicking across campus in their heels to reach the Beta house, where they connect with the rest of the chapter and wait to be bussed to the off-campus venue. It turns out that Historia knows just as many people in Beta as Ymir, although she is the panhellenic president, so it stands to reason that she’d be familiar to them. It’s a bit of a relief, actually, not having to make introductions and awkward small talk every few minutes, and by the time they arrive at the country club, they’ve fallen into a natural, easygoing rhythm. Annie and Mikasa dodge off on their own to take college prom photos before the sun goes down, and Sasha reconnects with a few other sisters going stag, giving Ymir one last big wink before she disappears into the crowd. Ymir and Historia grab drinks at the bar (Shirley Temples for the pair of them, because societal norms say that alcohol is *~inappropriate~* for them to consume at an official event) and begin a lap around the ballroom, saying hellos and taking stock of the inevitable freshmen dramas that will devolve into full-blown meltdowns on the bus back to campus.

They pass the first half of the night like that, circling the room and creating gossip, before Sasha finds them again and drags them onto the dance floor.

“I don’t dance,” Ymir yells over the music, but Sasha is pretending that the room is too dark to read lips and she just grins, tugging insistently on Ymir’s hand as she walks backwards into the middle of the jostling crowd.

“Everyone dances,” she yells back. “Come on, Hedy’s challenged Mikasa to a dance-off and she needs moral support!”

“A dance-off?” Historia exclaims, latched onto one of Ymir’s arms. The braids in her hair have begun fraying in the crowded room, the movement of a hundred bodies creating a heat wave. She reels back to shake Ymir’s arm as they’re propelled onto the dance floor. “Beta really gets down, huh?”

They find themselves on the edge of a dance circle, suddenly; it seems like half the chapter has gathered in a circle to cheer on the competitors, and though Ymir is certain that Mikasa has moves to knock anyone out, Hedy has alcohol on her side and she is definitely going to win the dance-off. It’s more of a collaboration than a battle, honestly, and they move synchronously, neither of them apparently concerned about taking turns.

Ymir leans over to Historia and asks over the music, “What are Zeta formals like?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Historia says back, clapping in time with the rhythm. “There’s a lot more cocaine.”

Ymir sputters, and Historia nudges her with her elbow, grinning.

“I’m kidding!” she yells. “I mean, kind of. It’s not like anyone is doing cocaine out in front of everyone.”

“Oh, so they just do it in the bathroom.”

“People do a lot of things in the bathroom at Zeta formal,” Historia says, quirking her eyebrow. Ymir is so glad that Hedy drops into a split just then, so no one can hear her coughing over the cheers of the crowd.

Mikasa forfeits the dance battle after that- the only thing she has ever forfeited, Ymir thinks- and finds her way back over to them, wiping sweat from her brow as the song shifts into something a little slower.

“I can’t believe you lost,” Annie says when Mikasa rejoins their group. She wraps an arm around her waist and steps up on her toes to kiss Mikasa’s cheek. “How dare you embarrass me like that.”

“My successor will lose to me next year,” Mikasa says, settling her arm around Annie’s shoulders. “It’s just tradition.”

Ymir raises an eyebrow. “That’s a pretty convenient excuse.”

Mikasa turns to give her a cold look. “I’d like to see you get out there and dance, then.”

“No thank you,” Ymir says instantly. “Sasha will compete on my behalf.”

“I dance for myself, thank you very much,” Sasha exclaims, and she means it, judging by the sweat beads rolling down her neck. She ruffles the skirt of her bright, red dress, fanning her legs as she takes a breath. “I should get some water. Is there food?”

“I think there’s apps,” Ymir says. She shakes her Shirley Temple and frowns when it’s just ice. “I need another one of these. Who knew a virgin drink could taste so good?”

“I’ll come with you guys,” Historia says as Sasha leaps off to find the bar. “I need a refill too.”

Their shoulders bump together as they weave through the crowd, following Sasha, and by the time they come out on the other end, catching their breath, Ymir has clasped onto Historia’s hand, trying not to lose sight of her in the crowd. Historia doesn’t let go when they emerge into the open space; she just glances over her shoulder and smirks.

“Am I that short?” she asks with a laugh. “You think I’m going to get lost in the crowd?”

“You’re telling me that’s never happened to you?” Ymir exclaims, grinning. “You’re, like, four foot ten.”

“Excuse you,” Historia says. “In these heels, I’m five feet.”

“Just barely!”

“Well, look who’s talking, you giant!”

“I’m, like, five foot seven, okay?”

“That’s a giant to someone like me.”

Ymir laughs. "Come on," she says, catching up to Historia, and they follow Sasha to the bar, dropping their hands to bump shoulders and hips. They find their friend waiting in line for the hors d'oeuvres as she sips on a glass of water; she waves them over, her long earrings swinging with her movements.

"I'm not talking too loud, am I?" Sasha asks. "I had to yell at you guys on the dance floor."

"No, you're fine," Ymir says. She tucks her hands into the pockets of her jumpsuit and glances down the long line, then turns to Historia. "Are you hungry?"

Historia shakes her head. "I can wait until the line goes down a bit. How about another drink?"

"Sounds good to me," Ymir rasps. She clears her throat. "God, I'm thirsty."

Sasha winks. "I'll say."

"Goodbye, Sasha," Ymir exclaims as they start off, Historia cracking a grin.

They each down a glass of water at the bar, then meander away with their virgin cocktails, wandering away from the crowd. The bar sits in a corner of the ballroom, near the open patio doors that let in a cool spring breeze. Night has fallen, and the courtyard is dim in Ymir's view as she stands at the open door, sipping on her drink. They haven't taken any pictures yet, but it's probably too dark by now. Still, the cool air beckons her out of the ballroom. She turns to ask Historia about stepping outside and finds her engrossed in her phone, face lit up white by the bright screen.

"Something wrong?" Ymir asks.

Historia glances up. "No, sorry. Do you want to go outside?" 

It's a relief from the crowded ballroom, even if Ymir is a bit chilly wearing just a silky jumpsuit. She follows Historia onto the patio, their shoes clicking on the brick path as they trail aimlessly into the night. The country club sits on the inlet of a lake, and the water shimmers under the moonlight. Historia stops to take a picture, scrolls through something on her phone, and then resumes sipping her drink. They pass a bench near the water's edge, and Ymir plops down, grateful for the chance to be off her feet. She winces when she stretches her toes. Historia smiles as she sits down on the end of the bench.

"My feet are killing me," she says, stretching her legs out in front of her with a sigh. "Holographic pumps may be cool, but they hurt like hell."

"I don't understand how people dance in these," Ymir says. 

Historia glances at her. "We just did, didn't we?"

"I mean, really dance. Mikasa was doing spins and shit in her stilettos. How is that even possible?"

"Well, that's Mikasa."

Ymir nods. "You're right. She's not human."

"For the record, I did not say that."

"The implication was clear. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone that you think she's a lizard person."

"Oh, see, I was actually thinking more along the lines of sentient android."

Ymir snorts. "You're weird."

"Speak for yourself," Historia exclaims. "Your automatic assumption was  _ lizard person _ ."

"There is an anthropological basis for that theory."

Someone shrieks with laughter from the other side of the lawn, and the sound carries over the lake. Ymir glances up with a start, nearly spilling her drink on herself. When she turns back, Historia is fiddling with her phone, staring at the dark screen as if she is waiting for something.

"Hey," she says without looking up. "Can I ask you something?"

Ymir shifts towards her. "Okay."

Historia sets her phone aside, balanced carefully on the arm of the bench. She turns to face Ymir.

"So all of that stuff you told me at Gamma formal," she starts, and Ymir grimaces. "No, it's nothing bad. You said you wanted to join Zeta because you thought I was out of your league or something."

"You were," Ymir says, and she barely refrains from adding  _ you still are _ .

Historia shakes her head. "That's the thing I don't understand though."

"What? Really?"

"Yeah," Historia exclaims. "All of the other stuff- I mean, I'm not saying that this would have worked, because I was going through some stuff last semester, and I did turn you down that one time. But I'm just thinking- I don't know what makes me so... unattainable."

Ymir blinks. "Are you serious?"

"I'm not anything special, Ymir," Historia says. "You didn't have to do anything special to talk to me."

And Ymir knows that, on one level. She understands what Historia is saying: they are just two people, two college girls who may or may not have anything in common, two friends who find it so easy to talk about these things now that they have the space. She understands that, and she knows that her plan would never have worked anyways. Still-

"You are special," Ymir exclaims before she can stop himself. She holds up a hand to cut off Historia's protests. "I know what you mean, and I know now that you're a weirdo who thinks my friend is a robot-"

"I'm not sure that's weirder than lizard person, but point taken."

Ymir smiles. "Okay, fine, I'm a freak. But you shouldn't think that you're not special or anything, just because you don't see it."

Historia stares at her for a moment. She's half-smiling, but there's something sad in her eyes. When she speaks again, she glances down at her drink and fidgets with the straw. "I'm just saying. I'm not, like, the dream girl that people see when they look at me. I know that's what people see, and I think that's what you saw too, and I'm just saying- that image is fiction. I'm just as stupid and weird as anyone else on this planet."

Ymir takes that in. She supposes she can't argue with that on principle, since Historia is right: everyone has their own lizard person theory. It was misguided, she knows, to put Historia on a pedestal above that, to think that there was something bigger dividing them than just distance.

"You're not wrong, I guess," Ymir concedes. "I think- I mean, people see you as something else, and that puts you out of their reach, at least in their minds."

She shifts on the bench, folding one leg under herself to fully face Historia. "But what do you want me to say? That you're boring and no one should think you're special? Because that's not true. Because you're smart and you're funny and you're brave and-"

She stumbles over her words. "I mean, you're beautiful too, even if that's not what you want to hear."

Historia scoffs, her smile growing. "It's not like I'll say no to a compliment."

Ymir smirks. "Okay, good, because I have more."

"I just want you to know," Historia finishes, raising her drink to her lips, "that we're not playing in different leagues or whatever bullshit people say. I don't want to pretend with you."

Her phone buzzes, and she snatches it before it vibrates off the bench. She glances at the screen, then back up at Ymir. "It's almost time to go."

Ymir blinks. "Really?

Historia pops off the bench. "Fifteen minutes left. Let's go dance our asses off while we get drunk on grenadine."

"Okay, but I'm taking my shoes off this time." 

Drunk on grenadine is something Ymir would not have looked forward to, but that's how Beta formal ends that night: the last of their Shirley Temples drained, their shoes flung off in a corner of the ballroom, and their bodies brushing together as the dance floor accelerates to its peak, a mass of sweaty, shouting people desperate to savor one last moment of joy before they have to return to real life in a few hours. Ymir and Historia find their friends in the crowd, and they dance in a circle, sweating their makeup off. It's only fifteen minutes, it's exhausting. When the party finally comes to an end, they stumble back onto the buses, gasping for breath. Ymir lets her eyes fall shut at one point, and she wakes with a start when the bus shudders to a stop outside the Beta house a few minutes later.

"Come on, lazy," Historia says, nudging her awake. Her hair glows under the blue lights of the darkened bus. "Time for the afterparty."

Annie's apartment is barely big enough for the five of them, but they make it work. Sasha pours wine in the kitchen while Annie and Mikasa argue about what to put on Netflix. Ymir is on delivery duty, keeping one ear pealed for the doorbell to signal the arrival of their Chinese food, and Historia sits near he, searching for a different drinking game so they don't have to play Ring of Fire again.

"What about blackjack?" she asks, scrolling through her phone.

Ymir sits on the other end of the couch, rubbing her sore feet. "Not exactly a drinking game."

"We can wager shots."

"Damn, Reiss, you don't fuck around."

"You should know that by now," Historia says with a smirk. "What about- oh, hang on."

Her phone buzzes and she pauses to read a message, her brow furrowed. Ymir is wondering if she should ask, if it's any of her business, when there's a loud knock at the door. 

"Food's here!" she shouts as she leaps up from the couch. Her sore feet hit the wood floor-  _ ouch _ \- and she signs to Sasha as she passes the kitchen. "Food's here."

"Thank god," Sasha exclaims. She sets down an empty bottle of wine and begins transferring five full glasses to the coffee table. "I feel like I haven't eaten all night."

The delivery driver unloads a mountain of food onto Ymir, who manages to pull out a tip and hand it over with her T-Rex arms under the enormous paper bag in her grasp. She staggers back inside, the door slamming shut with the wind, and heaves the bag onto the kitchen counter. 

"What are you talking about?" Ymir exclaims when Sasha appears at her side. "You're the only one who ate anything at the dance."

Sasha begins unpacking the food. "I'm also the drunkest, so I feel like that has something to do with it."

"Why were we letting you handle glass?!"

Annie and Mikasa wander into the kitchen to help- having changed out of their dresses and into sweatpants, god, Ymir is so lesbianly jealous of their domesticity- and soon, the group of five gather around the coffee table, digging into fried rice and dumplings. They turn Netflix into the night's drinking game, since they're too lazy to learn any new rules, and that spirals out of control very quickly: take a sip every time someone in  _ Legally Blonde  _ says "legally" or "blonde." Soon, they're refilling their glasses.

The movie carries on, the leftovers packed away for later, and another bottle of wine opened. The night feels loose, even after all the food and wine. Ymir sits on the floor with her back to the couch, a glass of white wine in her hand. By her side, Historia settles down, their shoulders brushing together. Her phone sits beneath the coffee table, and she stops every once in a while to attend to her messages. Ymir stops watching the clock. The movie ends with half a bottle of wine left to split. Annie and Mikasa each pour out a glass, and the other three pass, so they finish it themselves. Sasha falls back onto the carpet, exhausted, and plays with her hair as she begins a retelling of her grievances with Jean. The decision is made to liberate her from her phone; Mikasa places it on top of the refrigerator when she cleans up the wine glasses, and soon Sasha curls up on the couch, nodding off. 

The night is still young, so they dig out the cards and play a few games of Spoons. The last round ends with Annie and Mikasa accusing each other of cheating, and Historia turns to Ymir as if to suggest that they should take off before things get too serious. 

"That look you gave me in there," Ymir says once they're outside. "You thought they were about to bang, too, huh?"

They traipse down the stairs, suddenly sober in the early morning hours. Ymir slips her hands into her pockets as Historia laughs, arms crossed over her chest, her clutch stuck under one elbow, and she shoots Ymir a smirk.

"I got the feeling that arguing is their kind of foreplay," Historia explains. "I thought maybe it was time for us to excuse ourselves."

"You're probably right," Ymir says.

"Should we have rescued Sasha though?"

"Nah, she sleeps over there all the time. She's used to it."

They reach the parking lot, their heels tapping against the pavement. Historia's phone buzzes from inside her purse. She sighs, opening her clutch- then she pauses and pulls out a set of keys instead. 

"I know we ate two hours ago," she says. "But I'm still kind of hungry. Wanna go somewhere?"

Ymir points at the keys. "When'd you get a car?"

Historia glances down. "Oh, I stole my roommate's car for the night. She won't mind."

Ymir grins. "You  _ are  _ a criminal."

"Oh, stop. I  _ borrowed  _ her car."

Ymir laughs, bumping into her. "Come on, let's get out of here." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the gang's formal outfits:  
> [annie](https://drive.google.com/open?id=1gpbuxT9OucC9Tdud9xw0JWWmJLO9oRKO)  
> [historia](https://drive.google.com/open?id=1s4UpALSigJGvkTn2l7I_0t722vwJ3rIE)  
> [mikasa](https://drive.google.com/open?id=1brcBtRWU9TfG9-N1ep8KRKuj-KBrnxPa)  
> [sasha](https://drive.google.com/open?id=1FZhKl8HPDgOCtlbINl_51HFEx4NpA49v)  
> [ymir](https://drive.google.com/open?id=1HoH2RtqA7DMhAqsELZsRNngvkEXdegup)


	24. say all that you're feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously on soul sisters: ymir introduced historia to her friends, so that makes it real. this week: a conversation over coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: this chapter contains a frank discussion of mental illness, suicide, and involuntary hospitalization by a family member. specific details are in the endnotes to avoid spoilers.

There's a Waffle House on the outskirts of town, tucked against a dimly lit gas station. The building edges on an abandoned lot that doubles as overflow parking for the peak hours; dandelions have sprung up in the cracks of the pavement and the chain link fence on the perimeter is falling apart. In the middle of the night, there's plenty of parking just outside the restaurant, but Historia parks in the empty lot anyways, pulling the car into a haphazardly marked space. 

The night is black when they step outside, and their bare shoulders shiver in the cool spring air as they cross to the light, heels clicking against the sidewalk. Historia leads them inside, arms crossed over her chest, and Ymir yawns as she follows. A bell on the door rings across the otherwise silent diner, but the noise doesn't interrupt the restaurant's routine. None of the few customers look up on their arrival, and it's not until they've sat down, settling into a booth in the back corner, that a waitress peers out from the kitchen, readying her notepad. 

Ymir rubs her eyes as Historia reads over the menu. The fluorescent lights are jarring after the dark car ride, and she blinks a few times before glancing across the table at Historia. 

She can't help but smirk. "You really have to look at the menu?"

Historia glances up. "What?"

"We're at Waffle House, dude," Ymir says. "It's breakfast food."

Historia grins. "Okay,  _ dude _ . I'm just reviewing my options." 

The lone waitress shuffles across the restaurant towards them, fumbling in her apron for a pen, and stops at the end of their table to take their orders. "What can I get y'all?" she asks without looking up.

"Oh, boy," Ymir exclaims. "What can't you get us?"

"We'll start with some coffee," Historia says, using her laminated menu to reach across the table and smack Ymir on the arm. It makes a strange, wobbly sound in the air as it shakes, and they both have to hold back their laughs. "And an order of hash browns."

"Make that hash browns with cheese." 

"And let's each get a plate of waffles," Historia continues. "And some bacon too."

The waitress smacks her gum and begins to shuffle off. "Sure thing." 

Ymir leans back in the booth as Historia slides their menus off to the side, and she slings one arm across the back of her seat, head cocked slightly. "I've never actually ordered waffles here."

Historia raises an eyebrow. "We're at Waffle House, dude."

"Hash browns are the only way to go," Ymir exclaims. "I can't believe you were going to order them without cheese."

"I believe the correct terminology is  _ covered _ ."

"You're terrible," Ymir exclaims, dropping her arm. "I can't say one thing without being ridiculed."

"Well, if you stopped sounding so ridiculous, then it wouldn't be a problem!"

"Reiss, you can't do me like this!"

The waitress returns with their pot of coffee, and Ymir leans forward to pour out two cups, which they both douse with sugar and down in a matter of minutes. It's not thirst-quenching exactly, but it's satisfying, and Ymir pours herself another cup. 

Historia's phone buzzes on the table, the screen alight, and she takes a moment to glance at it, lips pursed, as she clutches her empty coffee cup. She's quiet for a long time, or at least it feels that way as Ymir watches her, unsure of what to say next. They're not the only people in the diner, but the other patrons are dining alone: truck drivers, insomniacs, loners waiting for something or someone. Ymir waits, sipping at her second cup of coffee, as Historia leans back with her phone, her brow furrowed, and taps out a few messages. 

When she looks up, she catches Ymir watching. 

"Sorry," Historia says, setting her phone down on the table. "Just weird stuff happening."

"Dude," Ymir says. "Weird stuff is always happening."

"Is it just me," Historia says as she reaches for the coffee pot, "or has this whole year been really weird?"

"That's not just you. I mean, it's been like that for me too."

The coffee flows, black, as Historia pours herself a second cup. She taps her fingers on the table, one hand hovering loosely around the basin of the hot mug- then the rhythm stops abruptly and her grip tightens. "It feels like things have been changing. This year's been, I don't know, transformative, I guess. It's so strange to think about where I was last year, compared to now. Nothing's really the same."

She glances up. "Sorry, I'm just pulling words out of my ass."

"No, you're totally right," Ymir exclaims. She leans forward and props her elbows onto the table. "I've been feeling like that for a long time too. I guess it just took me a while to admit it."

"It's hard," Historia says. "Knowing that my life will never be the same."

"It sucks," Ymir adds. "But for me, at least, most of the changes have been good, in the end."

"In the end," she agrees. She loops one finger through the handle of her coffee cup and moves it slowly in a circle, until it sits parallel to her body, a perfect line across the table towards Ymir. "Change is natural, and we're all going to come out on the other end better for it, aren't we?"

She looks to Ymir, her face silent, and Ymir stares back.

"Sure," Ymir offers after a pause. "I mean, I think so. That's how it's worked out for me, anyways." 

She winces, just thinking about the course of the last year: the mistakes she's made. 

"Don't get me wrong," she adds as Historia takes a sip of coffee. "I still don't have my shit together, but I'm in a better place than I was last year. We're all trying, right?"

"Right," Historia echoes at the reflection in her coffee cup. "We're all doing the best we can." 

She sticks on that for a moment, her gaze distant as the coffee drinks her mirror image. The side-braids in her hair are frying, tiny slivers of golden hair falling forward into her face, and she sits silently for another moment, lost, before her phone buzzes again, dancing on the table. She glances at the bright screen without moving her head; then, with a sigh, she reaches over and presses a button to darken the screen without replying. 

Historia sits upright. "It's about my sister."

Ymir takes a sip of coffee and raises an eyebrow. "Sorority sister?"

"My real sister," Historia says. "She's my half-sister. It's complicated."

Ymir sets her cup down.

"There's been some stuff happening all year," Historia continues. She reaches up to brush the loose strands of hair back. "Some family stuff, you know. I thought it was over, or at least, it was settled, but she's been texting me all night and I just don't know-"

She stops mid-sentence. 

She says, "You told me you didn't go on the summer tour last year."

Ymir furrows her brow. "I didn't. What does that-"

"But you probably heard," Historia says, "about what happened."

A lot of shit happened on the tour, as far as Ymir knows, but there's the  _ thing _ , the incident, the story that Reiner and Bertholdt have been keeping from her all year, the memory that's weighed them down and pushed them to their limits, the nameless face that they found half-dead in a bathtub in Bruges, and suddenly, it all comes together for Ymir.

"She's your sister," Ymir exclaims. "It was Frieda." 

Frieda Reiss. How stupid has she been?

The infamous first chair violinist and concert mistress who kept the entire orchestra in check. She was notorious in the music school for her tireless work ethic, her steel fortitude, and Ymir was the brunt of her wrath many times as a fumbling freshman in the symphony. Until this year, when Frieda abruptly dropped out after returning from the summer tour. Until...

Historia nods. "So you have heard."

"No one said her name," Ymir says, hands lingering uncertainly around her coffee cup. "I didn't know it was her until just now, but... wow."

The waitress shuffles back with their plates before they can say anything else, and when their food is settled in front of them, waffles and hash browns and bacon, Historia just reaches for a fork and shakes her head. 

"I'm sorry for even bringing it up," she says, picking at her waffles. "I don't want to make anything weird, but she's talking to me for the first time in a while and it's just, I don't know, a lot to handle."

"I mean," Ymir says, sitting still, unsure. "You don't have to feel bad. It sounds like you need to get some feelings off your chest. It won't be weird if you want to talk about it." 

A knife scrapes against the plate as Historia focuses on slicing her waffles, moving back and forth under her careful, silent eye. She says nothing, just cuts, and Ymir's own fork stills over the plate of hash browns, hesitant to say anything more, fearing that she has already crossed the line. She settles for finishing her coffee instead. After that, when Historia is quiet still, Ymir glances across at her.

"It's totally none of my business," she says, and Historia glances up. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine too."

"I do," Historia says. Her knife stops moving, but her hands stay where they are, perched on the utensils in a ready position; after a moment, she drops her posture and sets the knife aside, using the fork to probe at the waffles pieces, steering them through the syrup. "If that's okay with you."

"Of course."

"I'm just trying to think," Historia continues, then purses her lips. She lifts one waffle slice off the plate and eats it, chewing slowly as she turns her gaze to the window, brow furrowed. She swallows. "It's just hard to know where to start. There were so many things that, all our lives..."

She trails off again, then restarts.

"I think Frieda just couldn't take it anymore," she says. Her hard gaze reflects in the window glass. "I still don't know all the details, because we're- well, we haven't been as close, the last few years. So I don't know what pushed her over the edge. But they were in Bruges that day, and she'd been working her ass off all summer, all year, ever since she started playing, really, she's been killing herself over it.

"And when they got to the hotel that night," Historia says, "she just- I don't know. I think she just lost it."

She eats another waffle slice, and Ymir follows suit, digging in the cheesy-covered hash browns; they're hot, delicious, but she thinks that she burns her tongue. 

"She took all of her anxiety pills," Historia says. "I don't think she was even trying to kill herself. But she nearly did."

Her fork scrapes through the plate of syrup, and she glances back to Ymir.

"You really didn't know about this?" she asks.

Ymir looks back at her. "I wasn't on the tour."

"I know, but your friends- Reiner and Bertholdt- they were the ones who found her. They were with her in the hospital."

Ymir blinks. "They only told me a few months ago. They didn't really go into detail."

Historia reaches for her coffee cup. "They're good friends." 

They eat in silence for a minute, the rhythm of a meal slowly settling across their uneasy table. Historia pours them each another cup of coffee and finishes her waffles, then sits back with her mug and continues to speak. 

"She had to leave the tour early," she explains. "She came home, and that's when she decided to leave the school. For a while, she acted like she didn't care. Like she could go back for the fall semester and everything would've been fine, and I mean- she had good friends in the music school and in Zeta, too. I don't think anyone would have treated her any differently. But I think it was too much for her to face. She didn't even want to keep playing, so to go back to school and try to finish her degree..."

She stops to sip on her coffee.

Ymir finishes a piece of bacon. "Is she okay?" 

Historia sets her mug down on the edge of the table, fingers tapping around the rim, and pauses for a moment before answering. "She's fine now, I think, but- last fall, when I went back to school without her, I think that was hard for her to handle. To see me where she should have been. To realize that she'd put so many years into her music degree, and that she wasn't going to finish, at least not at that school.

"We're not that close," Historia says. "We weren't, and I went back to school thinking that she was okay. She was working, she was going to therapy. She was moving on."

Her hand tightens around her coffee cup. "I feel like I should have known better, though. I should have gotten her out of that house."

She glances up abruptly when Ymir bites into a piece of particularly crunchy bacon. Ymir winces, but Historia's gaze dissolves, and she reaches across the table in silence to a grab a piece for herself, which she chews through, then sighs.

"I'm sorry for dumping all of this on you," she says. "It's just kind of eating at me."

"Don't be sorry," Ymir says. "You should let it out."

"It's just such a real conversation to have at a Waffle House, of all places."

"If you ask me, a Waffle House is exactly the right place to have a real conversation."

Historia smiles and reaches for another piece of bacon. "This is good. Can we get another plate?"

"There's, like, six pieces left."

"I know, but I want more."

"As you wish," Ymir says, smiling. "Next time our waitress slinks out of the kitchen, I'll flag her down."

"Well," Historia says as she finishes her bacon slice. She reaches for a napkin and wipes her fingers, chewing. "Everything comes back to my father, I guess."

"...the city councilor?" 

Historia smiles wryly. "The one and only."

She goes back to her waffles, scooping up the last dregs of syrup with the remaining slices, and talking in between her bites. 

"It's hard to be around him, even when you're doing everything right," she says. "That's just how we grew up, and for Frieda, living at home after everything that happened- I mean, that was the only place she had to go. And I knew that she wouldn't be able to stay there for long, because I couldn't do it, if I was her, but when I went home for Thanksgiving, she was- I mean, it was just, like, a lot worse than I thought."

She swallows her last bite. "I didn't know what else to do."

That unfinished thought lingers in the air for a moment before Ymir catches on. 

"Wait," she says, setting down her fork. "What did you do?"

"I had her baker-acted," Historia says.

"Oh, shit."

"I know." She pauses. "I just didn't..."

She falls silent again, staring somewhere.

Laughter echoes from the kitchen, but it seems so far away from where they are, sitting together in their own private silence as the world carries on around them. One of the other diners gets up and leaves, but Ymir barely hears the bell on the door when it rings, and even the sound of her mug scraping against the table seems muted in the moment. 

Historia's gaze is steely when she glances up again.

"I didn't know what else to do," she repeats, but stronger this time. "Our dad, I mean, he didn't give a shit. Frieda had already failed him, as far as he was concerned. She could've set the house on fire with herself inside and he would've just walked away. I had to do something." 

Ymir fidgets with the half-eaten plate of hash brown. "Do you feel like, I don't know- do you think it was the right thing to do, at least?"

"No," Historia says. She stops on her next breath, and then she sighs.

"I don't know," she continues. "The right thing to do, in hindsight, would've been to talk to her, I guess, just to let her know that I was there if she needed me. But I didn't know how to do that. We're not like that. And I don't know if she really would've done it, but she told me, that night, the night I got home for the break- she had a plan. And she'd already hurt herself once."

She looks up at Ymir, bringing her coffee mug close to her chest with both hands. "Do you think it was the right thing to do?"

"Shit," Ymir exclaims, dropping her fork. "I don't fucking know." 

Historia sighs. "No, sorry, that's not fair to ask."

Ymir crosses her arms over the table. "At the very least, it sounds like you had good intentions."

"She hated me for what I did," Historia says. "She suffered for my good intentions. Was her pain worth my peace of mind?"

Ymir doesn't know how to answer that. She lets the question disappear into the air as they finish the bacon and hash browns together, the coffee pot now thoroughly drained. Historia's phone buzzes again, and she stops to check the messages as Ymir fills her silence with the last bite of hash browns. 

After a moment, she has to ask: "Is Frieda okay?"

Historia glances up. "What?"

"Is she okay?" Ymir asks. "I mean, after all of that."

"She's fine. Better, I guess."

"...you guess?"

"She moved out," Historia says. "She got out, and that's what we both wanted for her in the end."

She glances down at her phone, silent after a slew of messages. "She's finally pissed at me, which actually feels like a step in the right direction. She's been ignoring me ever since Thanksgiving, ever since she got out of the hospital, but- I don't know, for some reason she decided to text me tonight about how much of a dick I've been, so that seems like progress. At least we're talking again."

She looks at Ymir. "Right?"

"Right," Ymir says. "I mean, I've got no fucking clue."

"Yeah, me neither." 

They finish the rest of the food in silence, swapping plates back and forth to scrape up whatever they can. The waitress brings them another pot of coffee after she clears their plates, and another order of bacon upon request, and they sit there for a long time, saying nothing under the fluorescent lights. Customers trickle in and out of the diner, shadows who sit at the counter and disappear just as silently as they arrived. Historia's phone continues to buzz; she answers the messages, her nails clicking on the screen, but after a while, her phone falls silent too. Ymir drinks more coffee than she should as they gnaw on the bacon slices, and she turns her gaze to the window, watching the quiet reflections of their dolled-up faces. Historia's hairdo may be falling apart and Ymir's eyeliner has smudged, but they look peaceful in the dark glass mirror. It's not an uncomfortable silence that they linger in; it's just the way they are, sitting there together, feeling something that has them lost for words. 

Eventually, Historia glances across the table. 

"It's late," she says. "It's nearly morning."

"Should we head back?" Ymir asks. 

"We should go," Historia says. "But we don't have to go home."

Cheap coffee and burnt bacon linger on their lips. The bell sounds as they leave the diner, their shoulders brushing. They both stumble when their heels catch in the gravel parking lot, and Historia laughs out loud, arms wrapped around her body to stave off the chill. They're high, suddenly, on diner grease and fluorescent lights, on the catharsis of telling someone your darkest secrets, and Ymir never wants the night to end. A wind blows across the parking lot, but neither of them feel it rush across their skin, too breathless after a long night. Sirens wail from across town. They follow each other inside the car, the doors slamming behind them, and the yellow lights of the Waffle House shimmer over the windshield of the borrowed car as it pulls away from the parking lot, turning onto an empty highway. 

There is no conversation, no question of where they are going. They are going somewhere, anywhere; it's an endless feeling dancing through their veins, feeding their unspoken desires. The road is long, and Historia keeps them pressed forward, moving silently through the darkness as a soft, pink light begins to grow in the rearview mirror. Something old hums on the radio. Ymir leans back in her seat, one hand laid on the windowsill, the other pushed back through her hair. Strands of golden hair continue to slip from Historia's braids; on an empty stretch of road, she reaches up with one hand and pulls the whole thing apart, letting the mussed hair fall over her shoulders. She corrects it with one hand back through her hair, shaking out the curls, and Ymir smiles at the way the sunrise hits her face. 

They drive until they hit a red light somewhere outside of town, and the car rolls to a stop. In the silence, Historia turns to look at Ymir. 

"You know," she says, one hand on the steering wheel. "I never thought my year would end like this."

Ymir smirks. "Like what? Leaving Waffle House hungover in our stolen getaway car?"

Historia laughs, her hair brushing over her shoulders as she glances forward. "Okay, that is unexpected. I just mean, I didn't think this year would be any good. A lot of it's sucked and there's been so much going on with my family and at school. I thought this year was just something that I had to get through."

She turns back to Ymir. "But instead, I'm here with you."

"You flatter me," Ymir says. "Who's to say that it's not the other way around?" 

"Well, now you're just flattering me," Historia says, smiling. A beam of early sunlight flutters through the back window and across the car seats, casting a golden light over the space between them. "Thank you for letting me say all of that back there." 

"No problem, dude."

"I mean it, though," Historia says. "It means a lot to me that you'd listen to all of that, and I can know that you're not judging me for any of it. You mean a lot to me."

Their gazes meet across the sunrise.

"Of course, I wouldn't judge you," Ymir says. "You're important to me." 

Historia smiles. "So are you, to me." 

There's another moment of silence, another few seconds of soft light beams shining through the rear window of the car, before Historia's hand reaches out and touches the soft skin of Ymir's cheek. They meet in the middle, kissing again under the sunrise. The light is pink, like Historia's lips, like her eyelids as they flutter shut, like the tips of her fingers that find Ymir's hand and wrap themselves around, holding on tightly. Ymir kisses her, heart beating fast. She is right, she is close, and she is here. Historia is everything, under Ymir's hands, and Historia kisses her back.

When they pull apart, the light is green. 

"Where do you want to go?" Ymir breathes.

Historia glances out the front window, smiling. "Anywhere."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> historia talks about her sister, frieda, who suffered a breakdown due to an unexplained mental illness during the summer tour and subsequently attempted suicide. historia admits that she baker-acted frieda out of concern for her wellbeing, but she remains unsure if it was the right thing to do.


	25. everything you ever wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously on soul sisters: historia opened up. this week: everything comes full circle. at least, most things do.

The first thing Ymir does on Sunday afternoon is wonder why she set an alarm for 2 p.m. The second thing she does is taste gloss on her lips. The third thing she does is remember the night before.

She remembers the late night high of fresh air and the way Historia's hair looked under the moonlight. She remembers their soft, serious words at the diner, the tender brush of their shoulders as they stumbled out of the restaurant together. She remembers Historia's smile in the sunrise. She remembers the kiss.

She remembers coming home in the morning light and kissing Historia again on the steps of her dorm, before they finally parted for some much needed sleep after the long, exhausting night before. She remembers sending a short text, a good night or good morning, and setting an alarm lest she sleep through the entire afternoon. She remembers smiling when her phone buzzed with a response- a simple  _you too <3 _\- and falling asleep with those words on her heart.

The next Ymir does is realize that she's late for a symphonic concert rehearsal, because in all of last night's infinite wisdom, she completely forgot about that. By the time she is dressed and out the door, she has a dozen missed texts from Reiner, demanding to know her location.

 **Text from Reiner**    
u better have had the best nut of ur life last night  
bcus mikkelsen is on a rampage today  
if u are not here in 5 min he will literally kill you

Not to brag or anything, but Ymir is a master of bursting through the door at the very last minute, especially when it comes to symphonic rehearsals that she forgot about. That's exactly what she does today, sprinting across campus in leggings and an old camp tee-shirt, swearing under her breath all the way. Thank god it's not a dress rehearsal. She manages to piece together her bassoon while running up the stairs, plays the world's fastest warm-ups in the hallway outside the rehearsal hall, then dodges inside and slams down into her seat just before Dr. Mikkelsen turns around.

He doesn't seem surprised to find that she's appeared at the last minute, and he's even less impressed when a freshman violist skids through the doors two minutes into the first movement. Actually, he stops the entire orchestra to chew them out. By those standards, Ymir is doing pretty good.

Reiner and Bertholdt are similarly nonplussed when Ymir finds them after rehearsal.

"Are you ever going to learn how to be on time?" Bertholdt asks as he loosens his bow. They still have their cellos out, tucked between their knees, and Reiner gathers up the sheet music on their shared stand, expertly shuffling it into a neat stack as Ymir plops down on the floor beside Bertholdt's chair.

She huffs. "Shut up."

"I'm serious. You can't go one week without running in here like it's the airport chase scene at the end of a romantic comedy."

Ymir glances up at him as she begins to disassemble her bassoon in her lap. "You've never even seen a fucking romcom, Hoover."

Bertholdt lowers his bow. "I've seen plenty of romcoms."

"Name one."

"...  _The Notebook_?"

"Jesus," Ymir mutters, shaking her head.

Reiner leans over. "  _The Notebook?_ You think  _The Notebook_ is a romantic comedy?"

"Well, I don't know," Bertholdt exclaims. "I've never seen it!"

Marcel stands up behind them and peers over Bertholdt's chair. "Did I hear that right? Did one of you just say that  _The Notebook_ is a romcom?"

Bertholdt slinks down. "Oh my god."

"Okay, anyways," Ymir exclaims, shooing Marcel away with the threat of a double reed to his Achilles tendon. "I actually have a valid reason for being late today, considering that I was out until, like, six in the morning."

"Sounds like a personal problem," Bertholdt mutters.

Reiner stands up and scoots out of the orchestra with his cello, moving behind Ymir to his cello case. "So, did you have the world's best nut last night? Is that what you were doing at 6 a.m.?"

Ymir snaps the locks on her bassoon case. "I'm not giving you deets if you keep saying  _nut_."

Reiner slams his cello case shut with a fury. He sits back, staring at her, and says with wide eyes, "There are actual deets?!"

Ymir shifts. "No. I mean, yes, but-"

"Something actually happened last night?!"

"Wait," Bertholdt exclaims, glancing down at them. " Something happened on your date with Historia? Like, something  _actually_ happened?!"

"Okay, it wasn't even a date-"

"After all this time,  _something actually happened?!"_

"Yes," Ymir exclaims. She clutches her bassoon case for self-defense, glancing between them. "What is that so hard to believe?" 

"Eight months ago," Reiner says, his voice low. " you told us that you were in love with Historia Reiss."

"...I don't think I said it like that-"

"And now," he exclaims indignantly, cutting her off, "  _finally_ , something has actually happened? It's been eight months, Ymir! You could've had a baby in that amount of time!"

"Alright-"

"Most lesbians would be married by now!" Reiner yells. "So excuse me if this is a little hard to swallow!"

"...that's what she said-"

"YMIR."

"Okay," she shouts, holding her hands up in defense. "Jesus, I get it! I've been talking about Historia forever and we're finally, like, well- I don't know, really, we haven't had a chance to talk about it."

Reiner falls over. "Oh my God."

Bertholdt steps over him to put his cello away. "You're going to give him an aneurysm, Ymir. Don't come back until you have deets."

Disowned, discarded, disinherited- never to return until she figures out what exactly is going on with her and Historia. Reiner may kill her if she doesn't do it right. But it's not that simple, not even when she and Historia have gotten so close in the last few weeks. There's a lot to unpack in their relationship, whatever it is, and as much as Ymir would like to have firm answers to her questions, she doesn't know if either of them are ready to be so formal about this. They made out at a red light, for fuck's sakes. It's not like they actually decided on anything. It wasn't even a  _real_ date, technically. They didn't even take pictures at Beta formal.

These are all concerns she expresses to Sasha on Sunday night from the comfort of her bedroom, and concerns that Sasha, apparently does not share.

 **Text from Sasha  
** YOU DID WHAT?  
YOU MADE OUT AT A RED LIGHT????

 **Text from Ymir  
** i mean, yeah

 **Text from Sasha  
** oh my goddd YMIR  
wait i'm confused- were you in a car or nah?

 **Text from Ymir  
** what?? yes, we were in a car  
why else would we have stopped at a red light

 **Text from Sasha  
** idk  
whose car tho??

 **Text from Ymir  
** historia's roommates car  
this does not matter at all, i'm trying to get your advice  
you're supposed to be my big

 **Text from Sasha  
** how dare u insinuate that i'm not doing my job   
i'm just trying to get the full picture  
so you made out in her roommates car

 **Text from Ymir  
** yeah

 **Text from Sasha  
** and then what??

 **Text from Ymir  
** we just drove around and talked

 **Text from Sasha  
** and then?????

 **Text from Ymir  
** it was like 6 am so we went home and slept

 **Text from Sasha  
** TOGETHER???!???!  
YMIRRRR

 **Text from Ymir  
** no

 **Text from Sasha  
** oh

 **Text from Ymir  
** you don't have to sound so disappointed

 **Text from Sasha  
** were you not disappointed??

 **Text from Ymir  
** no i was tired as shit  
i'd been up for like 24 hours

 **Text from Sasha  
** i know for a fact that you did not wake up at 6 am on saturday  
but i'll let that slide bcus i love you

 **Text from Ymir  
** thanks, that means a lot

 **Text from Sasha  
** so what's happening now??

 **Text from Ymir  
** idk

 **Text from Sasha  
** excuse me?

 **Text from Ymir  
** we're really busy with the greek games rn  
we're going to be working on it nonstop for the next two weeks

 **Text from Sasha  
** ymir

 **Text from Ymir  
** yeah?

 **Text from Sasha  
** you're about to spend every waking moment with historia for the next two weeks

 **Text from Ymir  
** oh shit  
yeah i guess so

 **Text from Sasha  
** then you better lock that shit down!!  
i will sleep with jean if you do not do this right

 **Text from Ymir  
** sasha no  
nothing is worth that

Sasha's not wrong about this, at least. The next two weeks of Ymir's life are filled with final preparations for the Greek Games: sending out tee-shirts, reserving sports equipment, updating the schedule, and keeping Levi at bay least he find a way to shut the whole thing down. Ymir is on top of her tasks; she has clipboards and binders and the phone number of every team captain on speed dial. She knows the time and location of every game, the number of players and alternates, even the procedures for closing game operations in the event of a natural disaster. That was required by the university, apparently, though the biggest natural disaster they face at the moment may be Ymir herself.

She's not sure what the next step is with Historia. She knows how it's supposed to go: they dance around each other until they finally make it official, and then they're together forever and that's the end. But they've never been that simple, and she's trying to do the right thing. The next step isn't clear. Should they go out again or are they together now? Should they pretend like nothing happened so they can restart their relationship in the daylight. Should they talk about the fact that semester is almost over and no matter what they do next, they'll be spending three months apart?

Ymir doesn't know. Luckily, it seems that Historia doesn't know either.

Sunday passes, and by the time Ymir makes it to their scheduled Greek Games meeting on Tuesday morning, she realizes that it's been days since they last saw each other- days since they kissed at the red light. They've been texting everyday, keeping each other up to date on their lives, their schedules, the progress of the Games, but their lives aren't one, long sorority formal; they have classes and clubs and rehearsals. It's been a while, longer than Ymir thought, when they finally see each other again. And when she steps into the panhellenic office that morning with her binder tucked under her arm, when she sees Historia again, her golden hair falling over her shoulders as she rereads the schedule, her brow furrowed in concentration, her gaze narrowed, focused, confident, Ymir realizes: she can't fuck this up.

The door clicks behind her as she steps inside, and Historia glances up.

"Hi," she says, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Ymir smiles. "Hi."

"Come in," Historia says as she shuffles her paper out of the way. She sits at the end of the long conference table, an array of binders and folders spread out in front of her. Ymir can see from the other side of the table that she's been reading something called  _Fall Recruitment Schedule_ , and she grimaces: another reminder that the end of everything is approaching.

She sits down across from Historia, her binder plopped down in front of her- then they lock eyes across the table, and there's a long moment of silence.

Finally, Historia lets out a breath, smiling. "Hi," she repeats.

"Hi," Ymir says. "Been here before, haven't we?"

"Shut up," Historia mutters. She reaches for her notepad. "This is just- you know."

Ymir fidgets. "No, I know, it's- kind of weird."

"It's not  _weird_ ," Historia says, thumbing through her notepad. She glances up. "Unless you're going to make it weird."

"I think you're the one who's making it weird," Ymir points out. "You brought it up, not me."

"Fine, but you don't have to tease me about it." Historia flips to a page in her notepad and reaches for her pen before glancing up again, smiling. "It's just, you know, it's been a few days. I almost forgot that we made out in my roommate's car."

Ymir grins. "Does she know about that?"

"She has been wondering where that lusty scent is coming from, yeah."

"Tell her that I'm not sorry."

Historia cracks a laugh, tapping her pen against the paper. "I'll be sure to do that."

They stare at each other for another moment, smiling, and then Historia clears her throat and glances down at her papers. "So, we do need to get some stuff done today..."

Ymir flips open her binder. "Right. I've got the list."

So it goes.

The week moves slowly after that as Ymir jumps from task to task, class to class, thought to thought. There's a wind concert this night, a symphonic dress rehearsal the next night, and her ASL final exam the day after that, all blurring together as the days linger together, one after the other, coming and going but never quite leaving the back of her mind. It seems impossible, as it does every year, that the end is so close. It seems impossible that so much has happened, that she has changed so much, that she has watched the people she loves change as well. She remembers everything, the good, the bad, the in-between, and it all comes together now as she watches the end creep up slowly, everything swirling through her mind at once. She wishes, for a few breathless moments during that busy, endless week, that she had a chance to slow down before the end of the semester came- that she could stop, sit down, and process everything that's happened, for better or for worse.

She wishes that until she realizes that she's going to get exactly that, and then suddenly it's  _no, please, she can't take any more self-reflection._

Beta Alpha Epsilon has scheduled its traditional end-of-the-year sisterhood retreat for that weekend, and according to Mikasa's reminder email on Friday afternoon, it promises to be eight hours of sisterhood appreciation. Annie warned her about this months ago; alas, Ymir forgot.

Look, they're all appreciative of their sisterhood; they wouldn't be here if they wouldn't. So why, in god's name, are they required to sit through an entire day of workshops and bonding exercises to prove it?

"Oh, come on," Sasha exclaims on Saturday morning. "You were literally just asking for something like this."

"This is why I shouldn't tell you things," Ymir grumbles.

First of all, it's too early. No one should be required to do anything before nine a.m. on a weekend, and yet Ymir is here, standing in line at the campus coffee shop at 8:30, making a caffeine run for the chapter. Actually, they were just going to get coffee for themselves before they were locked in the Beta house all day, but Sasha made the mistake of announcing that in the group chat and they were suddenly plied with orders from approximately thirty sisters who were still rolling out of bed. Ymir kidnapped two of Beta's newest members, recently initiated spring recruits who'd had the misfortune of running into her on the sidewalk this morning, and she's just sent them on a delivery run to the house, each balancing two full trays in their arms, while Ymir and Sasha wait at the counter for the last of the orders to come through.

"It's the same kind of stuff we've been doing all year," Sasha says, leaning against the counter. She's in pure sorority form today: topknot, gym shorts, oversized tee-shirt. "It's just bonding exercises and stuff."

"Ugh."

"Ymir, you literally said yesterday-"

"I said that I wanted a chance to reflect," Ymir exclaims, clenching her coffee cup: double shot. She's going to need it. "I didn't mean an entire day full of feel good sisterhood crap."

The barista slides a drink their way, glaring at them, and Sasha adds it to a cupholder. "You'll get a chance to reflect, don't worry. The rest of it's just games and stuff. You know, like the one where we all close our eyes and say nice things about each other. And then the seniors will all make speeches and cry, and then they'll pass down their jerseys and stuff."

"Sounds like a blast," Ymir says, swallowing a sip of her coffee. "How many times this year have we played that stupid taps game already?"

Sasha frowns at her. "But I love that game.  _Tape someone who's inspired you. Tap someone who's a leader in this sisterhood. Tap someone who's helped you through a hard time_. It always makes me feel good about myself."

"You only like it because you get to play with your eyes open."

"Yeah, so everyone has to kiss my ass and tap me, or I'll know otherwise. Again, it makes me feel good." She takes a sip of her iced coffee and whisks it around in her mouth, savoring the taste, before she swallows. "The sisterhood retreat is just supposed to be a refresher before the end of the year, since we won't see each other over the summer."

Ymir slumps against the counter. "Don't remind me."

"I know what that's about," Sasha says, glancing sideways at her. "But speaking of other summer things, when do you find out about the symphony tour?"

"It should be next week, assuming Dr. Mikkelsen isn't a liar," Ymir says. "I'm just, like, generally not ready for summer. I've got so much shit left to do with the Greek games, on top of everything else."

"Well, they're almost over."

"They haven't even started, Sasha."

"I know," Sasha says, glancing over the counter for the barista. "But it's only, like, three days long, so it's basically almost done."

Ymir raises her eyebrows. "I have to spend those three days micromanaging two hundred frat stars who think they're at the fucking Olympics. It is absolutely not almost done."

The barista slings another drink their way, and Ymir fits it into the second-to-last slot on her cupholder, then checks her phone for the time. They might be a little late getting back for the retreat, but she has Mikasa's iced latte right here and she will hold it hostage against threat of penalty, so help her god.  

"So you're, like, actually in charge of the Greek Games," Sasha says, shaking her iced coffee.

Ymir glances at her. "It's literally my entire job."

"I thought your job was mostly marketing."

"I mean, it is, for the rest of the year," Ymir says, although to be honest, she's not totally sure what her responsibilities are once the Greek Games are over, besides running panhellenic's social media accounts. "But yeah, I'm basically the Games tsar."

Sasha gives a  _huh_ , and Ymir glares at her.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Sasha says, shrugging. "I just think it's funny that you're running the university's biggest sporting event despite knowing nothing about sports."

She stops suddenly, her face falling flat, and she turns inward to face Ymir, clutching her coffee close to her lips. "Oh god, please don't let him come over here."

Ymir glances over her shoulder in the direction of the register, where Jean is standing in line giving a barista his complicated and very important coffee order. He's wearing- she's not really sure what he's wearing, except that it makes him look like a huge asshole. Is that a sun visor?

"He asked me to go to his tennis match today," Sasha says, leaning in to Ymir. "And I made up some lame excuse about being busy."

Ymir glances at her. "You are busy."

"I know, but I panicked. I think I said I was getting my braces off."

"Wait," Ymir exclaims, her brow furrowed. "He can't be on the tennis team. He's a music student."

"It's a club team," Sasha explains.

"Well, that's even worse."

"Why do you always talk like music students are the most exclusive people on the planet?"

"Because we are," Ymir exclaims. "I barely have time to breathe."

"You have time to make out at a red light, apparently."

"For the love of god-"

"I'm kidding," Sasha says as the barista slides their last drink towards them. She fits it into the cupholder and they pile everything onto their arms, starting for the back door so they can avoid passing Jean. "Come on, let's go do some sisterhood bonding."

The sisterhood retreat is just beginning in earnest when they return with the coffee orders, and after everyone grabs their double shot almond milk lattes with a shot of caramel, the icebreakers start. Honestly, Ymir knows a fun fact about every single Beta sister by this point, and she can probably name all of their favorite foods and spirit animals too. She can certainly name all of their coffee orders. The sisters move through the room in loosely structured conversation, voices echoing off the walls as they try to think of new and interesting things about themselves. Ymir passes Sasha several times as she makes her way through the room, and each time she is met with a flirtily signed  _red light_. Ymir gives her the finger.

The icebreakers transition into long-form appreciation exercises that involve pushing all of the furniture out of the room and forming a big circle, the sisters sitting cross-legged on the ground. They play the taps game that Sasha loves so much, and Ymir makes a point of never tapping her, despite the glares that she receives from across the room. They play another infamous game, tossing a ball of yarn back and forth across the circle, saying nice things about each other until they are strung together in an indecipherable clump of bright red yarn.

"We're all connected or whatever," Annie mutters when she leans over to Ymir. They've somehow ended up sitting next to each other for all the exercises, and Ymir realizes that for the girls who've been in Beta for years, they've seen these activities hundreds of times. They could compliment each other in their sleep.

The retreat breaks for lunch at midday. They regroup an hour later, coming back inside, blinking as they transition from sunlight to the dimmed lights of the chapter room; the furniture has been returned to its places, and the sister settle comfortably across the room, collapsing into sofa and armchairs as they wait for the next activity. Mikasa heads to the front of the room, a stack of papers in her hands, and waits for them to settle down before she begins.

"We're going to take the next thirty minutes to do a reflection exercise," she says.

If she hears the collective grumble that rolls through the room, she doesn't acknowledge it.

"This is something that we do with prospective members during spring recruitment," Mikasa says, addressing the room. She begins shuffling the papers in her hands to pass them out. "So some of you did this not too long ago. It's a good exercise to help you understand what you're really looking for in a Greek organization and to figure out if we're the right sorority for you.

"But it's also something that we do at the end of every year," Mikasa continues. "For all of us, it's a chance to reflect on our year, including the good, the bad, and everything in between, and how the Beta sisterhood has fit into all of that."

Ymir glances at Annie. "Is this what you warned me about?"

"Yeah," Annie mutters as she pulls out a pencil. "Have you been practicing your canned bullshit?"

"No."

"That's about what I expected from you."

"So, everyone take a piece of paper," Mikasa says as the stack is passed around the room. "And take the next half hour to answer the question: what does this sisterhood mean to you?

"Be honest," she says. "Your responses are anonymous, but the executive board will be reading them to identify some things we can do better next year. It's in your best interest to tell the truth."

Tell the truth, Ymir thinks. She stares down at the paper, pen in her hand. It's been a long year, and this is the chance she was waiting for. She glances up and finds that the room is quiet, the other sisters silent as they write their own reflections, heads bent low over their papers. Beside her, Annie scratches out something in illegible handwriting; across the room, she can see Sasha pause to think, and even Mikasa has found a place to sit down and write.

She turns back to her paper. Without thinking any further, she's honest:

_I joined Beta to win someone over. Even that's a bit generous. I joined Beta to impress a girl. I thought being in a sorority would make her look at her. I wasn't even going to stay this long. I planned to drop out as soon as I got the girl. But that didn't happen and I ended up staying in Beta anyways. I never saw myself as a sorority girl and I never thought I'd actually fit in here._

_But in the end I chose to stay, because Beta accepted me from the beginning. I know it sounds dumb which is why I was hesitant about joining at all because I'm not really a feelings persons or any of that, but it's nice to have a group of people who wanted me to join them so badly that they bid on me. They saw something in me and they knew that I would do well here. So I'm lucky after all, even if nothing worked out the way I thought it would._

_So what sisterhood means to me is belonging. I have my place now, which is pretty cool and I don't know if I've ever been a part of something like this before. Not just rituals and stuff, although I know that stuff's important, but the friendships and the support system. Sometimes you guys are way too crazy for me, but I guess that's what family is supposed to be. And that's what sisterhood means to me._

Ymir puts her pen down with a huff. She writes like a twelve-year-old. How the fuck did she get into college?

"Take five more minutes," Mikasa calls from the front of the room. She's folding up her own paper as she meanders through the room, glancing down at everyone's progress. "If you really need more time, keep writing. Otherwise, fold your paper up and toss it in the bag that's coming around."

"How'd you do?" Annie asks as they fold their papers. "Write some good bullshit?"

"It was some great bullshit, actually."

"Maybe you'll make it into the hall of fame."

Ymir glances at her. "That's not a real thing, is it?"

She never gets an answer, because as soon as they drop their papers into the bag, the senior celebrations begin. It's a time honored tradition that involves the passing down of jerseys, tee-shirts, memorabilia, and various items stolen from frat houses. The seniors take turns addressing the room, passing down items to their littles and friends while they make weepy speeches about how much Beta has changed their lives and made them stronger, confident women who are ready to graduate and take on the world. Hedy makes a particularly rousing speech that has the entire room on the verge of tears, before she pulls out a neon pink tee-shirt commemorating Gamma Formal 1997 and throws it at Ymir's head.

Ymir untangles herself from the shirt. "I don't want this."

"Well, I'm giving it to you," Hedy says. "It's been passed down between Beta sisters for the last twenty years, and now it's yours to steward. Take care of it."

Ymir turns the shirt over and glances at the fading image of a sunglasses-wearing, crack-smoking lobster on the back. "Never mind, I'm going to wear this everyday."

Emotions continue to run high into the evening, when the sisterhood retreat is finally called to a close with handholding and a somber song to remain with them throughout their distance during the summer months, or whatever. What it really means is that the semester is over: the sisterhood retreat marks the end of sorority activities for the year, and it's weird the next day when Ymir realizes that she has a free Sunday night for the first time in a while- no more chapter meetings, not until next fall. Instead, she spends her evening "practicing" in Saber with Reiner and Bertholdt, which really means that she plays games on her phone while blowing random notes on her bassoon, and Bertholdt insists vehemently that he has seen at least one romcom in his lifetime, although he still can't name a single one. The closest he gets is  _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ , which... alright, that's technically true, although not really what they were going for.

The next week passes much the same as the last, although the time flies; with the games looming so close, there's still a lot to be done. Ymir hardly has a moment herself, running from class to rehearsal to the gym to the panhellenic office. Her clipboard is ever growing, and Historia actually gives her a headset so that she can keep in touch once the games begin. She has people texting her, all of a sudden: team captains asking about the rules, equipment managers making deliveries, and volunteer referees making sure they will receive community service hours for this. She's completely in charge, which seems impossible. And it's hectic, sure, trying to keep track of all the moving parts, but her efforts have taken so much work off Historia's plate, since the preparations for next fall's recruitment have already begun. And with the help of her volunteers and the team captains, running the games smoothly isn't an impossible task. Her checklist keeps her prepared for everything, including an emergency in the event of a natural disaster.

She's ready for anything, and when the week comes to an end, the Greek Games have arrived. The tournament's kickoff is on Friday night, with two full days of games to follow. The opening ceremony requires lights, music, and crowd control for the stadium that will hold the spectators. Ymir is there on Friday afternoon, whizzing through the items on her checklist as the setup begins: sound guys over there, campus safety guys over here, and there are the setup volunteers now, heading into the stadium with a familiar face at their helm.

"I found them wandering around outside," Historia explains once Ymir has given the volunteers their tasks. "They might've died in the parking lot if I hadn't given them directions."

Ymir glances at the group of volunteers, now heaving around tables and chairs in accordance with her instructions. Most of them are frat guys who have been mandated to do this by their chapter, and they look just as enthused as she'd expect. "That sounds about right."

"How's everything going?" Historia asks, peering at Ymir's checklist. "It looks like you're ahead of schedule."

"I'm paranoid," Ymir says. "Something's going to go wrong."

"Stop, nothing is going to go wrong."

"Everything has gone right so far."

"The games haven't even started yet," Historia says with a  _tsk_ of her tongue. "Just wait until someone breaks their nose, and then you can start worrying."

"Christ, is that going to happen?"

"It happened last year," Historia says. She frowns. "I'm not being helpful, am I?"

Ymir glances at her. "You're freaking me out."

"Then how about this," Historia says, crossing her arms. "Everything will go perfectly!"

"You're so fake."

"I'm trying to be optimistic!"

"Please just stay a realist," Ymir says. "It suits you much better."

Historia grins. "Okay, fine. Something will go wrong, but we'll handle it. Soon, this will all be over."

"Now, that's what I need to hear."

Someone throws an arm around her shoulders then, and, like- obviously, she knows that it's Reiner, because no one else would dare get that close, but in that moment, her brain has not fully processed that it's Reiner, and Ymir's nerves are wired with worries about the success of the games, so instead of just getting startled like a normal person, she shrieks, spins around, and smacks him in the face with her clipboard.

"Well," Historia says, wincing as she dabs at the spot of blood that landed on her face. "Something just went wrong."

"What the hell, Ymir?" Reiner bellows, his hands cupped around his face. Blood leaks through his fingers, and when he pulls his hands back, straightening up to assess the damage, his nose is- yep, definitely broken. "What was that for?"

"You startled me," Ymir yells, and she's realizing now that she's covered in blood splatter like she just stabbed someone. "Why would you do that?"

"I do that to you all the time! You've never punched me in the face before!"

"Lesson learned, I guess!"

A squeal erupts across the stadium, and Ymir swears. Historia winces, covering her ears, and Reiner moves to do the same until he realizes that his hands are covered in blood, so he just stands, grimacing, as they glance around, searching for the source of the noise.

"Oh my god," Ymir wails when the sound cuts out. "Everything is going wrong."

"It's probably just the sound guys working on something," Historia says, putting a hand on Ymir's arm. "It's probably just- wait a minute, is that Bertholdt?"

Reiner glances up. "Wait, what?"

Ymir squints into the stands. Sure enough, a tiny Bertholdt-esque figure is making its way along the top seat of the metal bleachers, something silver and shiny gripped ferociously in his hand-

"Oh, no," Ymir exclaims. She glances at Reiner. "He was so pissed about the romcom thing. He's not about to do what I think he is, right?"

"No, babe," Reiner shouts, bloody hands cupped around his mouth. He winces and presses two delicate fingers on either side of his nose. "Oh, shit, Ymir, you broke my nose."

The music begins, rumbling over the entire stadium; the sound system cuts in and out as the first notes of the song play, and Historia leans over to scribble something on Ymir's to-do list.

"The sound system needs to be fixed," she explains. "Should we just ask the guys to cut it out now?"

"No, I want to see this," Ymir says, glancing up into the stadium. "He deserves to embarrass himself like this."

"I'm sorry I made fun of you for thinking  _The Notebook_ is a romcom," Reiner shouts up into the stands. "Don't do this to yourself!"

It's too late. Bertholdt is already singing.

" _You're just too good to be true_ ," he starts. " _Can't take my eyes off you_..."

The microphone squeals again, thundering through the sound system until the entire stadium is ringing. Ymir swears until the shriek fades, but the sound quality isn't much better even when they can hear the words Bertholdt sings as he crosses the bleachers.

Historia clears her throat. "Uh... wow."

"Yeah," Ymir sighs. "Yeah, I just- he's completely tone deaf."

Reiner leans over, one hand raised to his face to stem the blood from his broken nose. "He's a great cellist."

From the field, they watch Bertholdt descend the stadium steps as he sings; but the height seems to get the better of him and he stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet as he slips down a step. He catches himself and manages to come down further as the song continues, but from the field, he's still in the distance.

"I think he underestimated how tall the bleachers are," Historia mutters. "This stadium seats 10,000 people."  

"Wait, really?" Ymir exclaims, glancing at her. "How do you know that?"

"Yeah. I used to be an assistant manager for the football team, back when I had time in my life to put up with the asinine bullshit of men-"

"I'm so glad you guys are enjoying this," Reiner exclaims, leaning over to glare at them. "But your trivial conversation is kind of ruining this romantic moment for me."

"This is romantic?" Ymir sputters.

The chorus hits, blaring through the stadium's sound system with deafening vibrations, and from the center of the stadium, Bertholdt throws out a hand, pointing directly at Reiner as he sings.

" _I love you, baby, and it's quite alright, I need you, baby_ -"

"Okay," Reiner says. "Maybe it's not that romantic."

"Am I missing something?" Historia asks. She glances over at Reiner. "Like, is this your guys' song or something?"

"What?" Ymir exclaims, looking at her. "No, this is a scene from  _Ten Things I Hate About You_."

"From what?"

"Oh my god, not you too!"

Unfortunately, there are no security guards to hilariously chase him around the stadium. Bertholdt has nearly reached the end of the bleachers and he's holding a particularly long (and painful) note when his voice stops suddenly, and he drops the microphone to his side, squinting down at the field. The music keeps playing in the background, even when he raises the microphone and yells, "Are you bleeding?"

"Well, that was fun while it lasted," Reiner sighs. "Ymir, would you answer him? My face is going to explode if I open my mouth any wider than this."

Ymir cups her hands around her mouth and yells back, "No, he's fine!"

"You punched me in the face!"

"I did no such thing!"

There's a sudden, frantic thumping, and they glance up in time to see Bertholdt leaping down the bleachers, taking the stairs two at a time, then dumping the microphone on the grass and sprinting towards Reiner. He stops just in front of them, breathing hard, one hand to his chest.

"What happened to your face?" he exclaims, his eyes wide as he stares at Reiner.

Reiner covers his nose with one hand. "You don't have to say it like that."

"Ymir punched him," Historia offers. Ymir smacks her on the arm as she cackles.

"What was all of that?" Reiner says, lowering his hand. Bertholdt steps forward to inspect his broken nose, but Reiner holds him back with a bloody hand to the chest. "You know you didn't have to do that just to prove that you've seen a real romcom, right?"

"I know," Bertholdt exclaims, grabbing Reiner's hands, even though he definitely did not know that. "It just seemed like a good opportunity to make some kind of grand romantic gesture, and there wasn't exactly an airport I could run to or anything, so-"

"That's so weird and cute," Reiner says. "I don't know if  _Ten Things I Hate About You_ was really the best choice though, I mean, the whole point is that he tricks Kat into dating him-"

Reiner stops and looks at Ymir. "Wait, that sounds like someone I know."

"Shut up," Ymir mumbles. "It's a romcom, it doesn't have to make sense."

Bertholdt glances at her, then furrows his brow. "How long have you guys been there?"

"The whole time, don't worry."

"Great," he sighs. He pauses. "Are you both going to stand there and listen to this?"

"Of course. Just speak up a little? For the camera?"

"Ymir, turn that off!"

"No," Reiner says, glancing over his shoulder at her. "I want to relive this moment forever. Make sure you get my good side."

"So, don't get you in the frame at all? Got it."

"Listen, you sorority hoe-"

Bertholdt waves his hands as he shakes his head, silencing all of them. "Okay, this got really out of hand," he exclaims, still breathing hard. "And I didn't mean for, like, twenty other people to be here, and I see them now that I'm looking around and they're all definitely watching, so that's fine and whatever-"

He cuts himself off and takes a deep breath.

"Okay," he says. "What I really want to say is-"

He steps closer and grabs Reiner's bloody hands.

"Reiner," he starts. "I know we've been through a lot this year. And I know that there've been times when I wasn't there for you like I should have been, or when I didn't let you know what I was really feeling. But I want you to know just how much I love you-"

Reiner sniffs.

"Okay, I haven't even said anything yet," Bertholdt exclaims, squeezing his hands. "You can't cry until I'm done."

"Sorry, I'm just thinking about you and God and the world and Carly Rae and, okay, keep going."

Bertholdt takes another deep breath. "I love you so much," he says, and when his voice cracks, Ymir feels Historia cling to her.

"You're the first thing I think about in the morning," Bertholdt says, "and the last thing I think about at night. I miss you when you're gone, even if it's only for five minutes, and those weeks that we spent apart were, honestly, the hardest of my life. And I know that I'm not that good at talking about my feelings, but I'm going to be better about that, because- because I love you and you deserve it, and I want you to know that no matter where you are or what you're doing-"

"Okay, I love you too," Reiner shouts through his tears. "Can you stop talking and kiss me?"

"Okay," Bertholdt cries.

Ymir winces at the wettest, messiest, bloodiest kiss that follows.

Historia nudges her shoulder, one hand still clenched onto Ymir's arm. "Was there a point to this? Like, are they getting married?"

"In lesbian years, they're already married."

"So, they'll get married in, like, fifteen years."

"Yeah, I think that's the right conversion rate." She turns off her camera and grimaces. "Alright, come on, stop making out on my field. I've got work to do here."

Reiner's face is streaked with tears and blood when they finally pull apart. "You better send me that video."

"You guys wanna be on  _Ellen_?" Historia asks. "I know a guy."

Ymir glances sharply at her. "What the hell do you mean you know a guy? You know someone who works on  _Ellen_ and you've never mentioned it?"

"Actually," Reiner says, wincing as he presses a ginger finger to the bridge of his nose, "right now I'd really just like to go to urgent care."

"Oh, yeah," Bertholdt says. He wipes Reiner's blood from his lips. "We should do that."

They stumble off the field together, their arms linked together, and Ymir's phone buzzes as she watches them go. She rolls her eyes- will she ever get tired of those two idiots?- and pulls her phone out as Historia sighs and turns towards her with a smile.

"See?" Historia says. "Nothing's gone wrong. That was actually something good."

She pauses, and Ymir glances up from her phone.

"What?" Historia asks, her smile falling. "Something's not actually wrong, is it?"

"No," Ymir says. She tucks her phone away. "I, uh, I got into the summer tour."

Historia's face is blank for a second, and then she beams. "Shit, that's amazing!"

"I know," Ymir exclaims, shaking her head. She fumbles with her clipboard, flipping through the pages mindlessly as she thinks. "I really wasn't sure if I was going to make it, but-"

"Of course you would," Historia says. She reaches over and squeezes Ymir's arm. "I knew you would."

Ymir can't help but grin at that. "I guess I'll be in Europe this summer."

"Where are you going? Do you know yet?"

"Not really," she says, because she barely glanced at the body of the email, just read the words:  _congratulations, Ymir_. "It changes every year, so it could be anywhere I guess."

Ymir glances down at her, smiling. "Why? You planning a visit?"

"Maybe," Historia says.

Ymir blinks. "What?"

"I forgot to tell you," Historia says. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "With everything that's been going on these last few weeks, I just forgot. But I'm studying abroad in Austria this summer."

"Austria?" Ymir echoes, her mind racing. The tour's gone to Austria before. "So- maybe we will see each other."

Historia looks up at her. "Maybe we will."

There's a moment- a brief, sunny moment- when it's just the two of them, standing on that wide, empty football field and looking into each other's eyes. Then the sound system strikes out again, and Ymir winces, glancing back down to her clipboard.

"We've got some games to run," she says. "I should get to work on that sound system."

Historia nods. "Right, I should get going. I'll see you at the opening ceremony tonight."

"Yeah," Ymir says. "See you there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only one chapter left! i'm getting sentimental, so [here's a twitter thread of soul sisters trivia.](https://twitter.com/acker_mom/status/1127940924301029376)
> 
> [and for those of you who've never seen _10 things i hate about you._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7N6kB11GpE)


	26. i'm coming to get you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously on soul sisters: ymir made summer plans, bertholdt sang karaoke, and the greek games finally arrived. this week: the real treasure was the friends we made along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so many things have changed since the original draft of _soul sisters_ , but the heart of the story has always remained the same. it is a love letter, in more ways than one.
> 
> writing this story has been a long journey and there have been times when i felt completely out of my comfort zone, pursuing a project that was constantly evolving, seemingly always one step ahead of me. in hindsight, i can see so many flaws and failures. i would fix this fic beyond recognition if i could: the pacing, the point of view, the plot development, and so on. ultimately, i am glad that i took the time to finish this story and i'm proud of what i've learned from the process and outcome. 
> 
> more than anything, this writing process has been cathartic. i started writing this fic immediately after finishing college, and i drew from a lot of personal experiences in my writing. ymir's path (as a student, a sorority sister, and a friend) mirrors my own in many ways. it has now been 1.5 years since i graduated, and it feels fitting that this story is coming to an end, like i have finally finished that chapter of my life. 
> 
> unlike ymir, i did not have a huge gay romance woven into my sorority story. so i hope i can bring everything together for you here and make this read a worthwhile journey. thank you for reading. 
> 
> find me on [tumblr](https://ackermom.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/acker_mom).

The Greek Games open to thunderous applause. Cheers shake the stadium when the lights come on, shining down on the football field through the purple sunset. Rows and rows of students, dressed in their organization's colors, some with Greek letters painted on their faces, bellow chants as their teams parade onto the field for the opening ceremony. They're joined by the presidents of the campus' Greek governing bodies: Historia, looking like a goddess in her panhellenic tee-shirt, and her fraternity counterpart, looking like his parents paid $500,000 to get him into this school because he clearly has nothing else going for him. They give a rousing welcome as emcees and stir the crowd into even more of a frenzy, announcing each team's name through the new and improved sound system.

If Ymir didn't know better, she'd think this was the fucking Superbowl. She watches from the sidelines, clipboard in hand, and though she does her part to whoop when Beta's name is announced across the stadium, she's still a little underwhelmed. The Greek Games are hyped up all year and hell, since she's been organizing them, she's been the biggest hype man of all. But she's always managed to escape attending the Greek Games in the past, despite Reiner's insistence that she attend, and now that she's here, now that she's running this event- she's still not totally sure what the big deal is. Sure, she wants Beta to win, and she may or may not have offered Annie, their team captain, the chance to rig a few of their events, but in the end, it's a bunch of non-athletes running around, sweating, and competing for a plastic trophy that is sitting in a place of honor in Ymir's bedroom until the closing ceremony.

It's all a little ridiculous, if she's being honest. But she's here, she supposes, a headset wrapped around her ears, passing out handheld timers to the referees for the first event, and running away from Historia's chest bump when she joins Ymir on the sidelines.

"Bump me," Historia exclaims, waving Ymir on. "Come on, just bump me!"

"That's gonna hurt," Ymir hisses back, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I'm on fire, I won't feel it! Come on!"

Ymir gives in (for the record, it does hurt), but true to her word, Historia does not seem to feel it. She's wired from her emcee duties, and she brushes her hair back over her shoulders, grinning.

"Sorry you can't be up there with me," she says, nodding her head towards the stage. "You'd be a better co-host than Thad."

"I would be a terrible emcee," Ymir says, glancing up from her clipboard. "And god, his name is Thad?"

She waves the volunteers off the sidelines, and they rush towards the center of the field where the teams are lining up for the first event. The obstacle course is the most anticipated event of the games, and the only one that will draw a crowd this big; it's a game of luck, not skill, and everyone loves to see their friends scrambling through a blow-up course only to fall on their faces. Still, it's weighted just as heavily as the actual sports events that will take place throughout the weekend, and the teams take it just as seriously. Ymir knows that Annie has been prepping the Beta team for this by creating obstacle courses from furniture in the chapter room, although she's not really sure how well that will translate to what is essentially a relay race in a bouncy castle.

The referee blows her whistle, and the first batch of relay runners is off, leaping into the inflatable obstacle course in a desperate bid to gain seconds on their opponents. Without fail, every one of them falls over.

Ymir snickers. "We should've dunked that thing in olive oil. You know, really, make 'em work for it."

Historia grins. "Maybe next year."

The relay race continues with a spectacular series of fails as the runners stumble through the course and then back, tapping their teammate who is next in line. By some miracle, the Beta team emerges victorious with a margin of three seconds. That's one win for her homegirls, and Ymir takes immense pleasure in ending the first night of the Games with Beta's name at the top of the scoreboard.

The stadium empties, and the teams leave to rest for the next day's events. The night is far from over for the Greek Games committee, though; they blast their pump-up playlist over the speakers and set to work disabling the stage, cleaning up the stadium, and waiting for the obstacle course to deflate. Ymir has to yell at more than a few of her volunteers. By the time they've finished, it's well into the night and Ymir goes home, exhausted.

She's up just a few hours later on Saturday morning when her alarm rings, bright and early. She groans, a soreness spreading slowly over her whole body, and shoots a quick morning text to Historia.

**Text from Ymir  
** you up, madame president  
we've got Sports to do today

**Text from Historia  
** how is it possible that you managed to only capitalize sports in that sentence?

**Text from Ymir  
** it's an aesthetic

**Text from Historia  
** oh i see, it's ironic  
because you hate sports

**Text from Ymir  
** how can i hate sports? i'm in charge of all of them

**Text from Historia  
** lol. i'll see you at the soccer field

The games begin again that morning on the north side of campus. It's hot outside, the summer fast approaching, and the sun is already beating down on them when Ymir and Historia meet for the first event of the day. The referees meet them to collect their whistles and timers, and the teams show up not long after that, ready to kick each other's asses. The teams come in and out, shuffling through a simultaneous series of events: soccer, frisbee, and bocce. Ymir runs between games, eternally thankful for the headset radio that Historia insisted she use, and she gets to yell at even more people: team captains who show up late, volunteers who don't move equipment fast enough, referees who are just trying to figure out the rules of bocce.

It's exhausting and she's soaked in sweat by midday. Honestly though, she may be doing the physical work of running around and keeping teams in check, but she has no idea how Historia is keeping up with anything. She's an inter-Greek cheerleader at every single event, always on the microphone to get spectators pumped for another game of kickball or to announce the updated standings or to talk down the hecklers on the sidelines. Talk down is a bit generous, actually, because Historia actually just gets on the mic and threatens to do bodily harm to them- but hey, it works.

After lunch, they move into the rec center, taking over the basketball courts for the afternoon's events. Ymir has never been so thankful to be out of the sun, but her relief doesn't last long when the basketball game is delayed because someone at the gym forgot to lower the hoops. It's annoying and it throws her off her schedule, but they get back on track eventually, and then suddenly all of the games start happening one after another: Beta wins a volleyball game, someone breaks a finger during basketball, and Ymir tries to remember why they're hosting both indoor and outdoor soccer.

By the end of the second night, she's worn out.

"You should drink some tea," Historia says when she finds Ymir couched on the floor of the gym, staring fruitlessly at the volleyball net strung up in the middle of the court. Historia looks slightly less burned out, although when she collapses on the floor next to Ymir, she lets out such a deep breath that her entire body flops down like jello.

"Is that the secret?" Ymir asks. She leans back against the wall, drumming a volleyball on the floor between her legs.

Historia shrugs, as much as she can when she's flat on the floor. "It's  _a_  secret. It keeps me from losing my voice, but it's also just, you know, caffeine. And stress relief."

"I can't believe you haven't lost your voice yet. You've been yelling into that mic nonstop."

"I wanted a megaphone," Historia sighs. "Levi said no."

"Fuck him," Ymir exclaims. "Get yourself a megaphone."

"Well, it's too late now," Historia says, smiling as she pulls herself upright on her elbows. "And I think that would probably be worse for my voice than the mic. It just seems so much more fun."

She sighs and lets her head fall back over her shoulders, the tips of her hair touching the gym floor. "So I guess I'll settle for drinking tea."

"I hate tea," Ymir mutters.

Historia reaches over and smacks the volleyball out of her hands, sending it flying across the gym floor. "You work for me, you drink the tea."

Ymir snorts. "Okay, well, I guess that's it then. I gotta start drinking tea."

Historia sits upright, her knees scraping against the floor, and glances over her shoulder at the forlorn volleyball net. "We have to take that down by ourselves, don't we?"

"...yeah."

They disassemble the net in record time. It's a record for the slowest time ever, because they keep stopping to throw volleyballs at each other, and then Historia takes a ten minute intermission to sit on the floor and whine about how much she wants cheese fries while Ymir googles frantically where to get cheese fries in their town after midnight. And then, just like that, the second night of the Greek Games is over.

Ymir can feel the exhaustion all the way down to her bones, but at the same time, it seems impossible that the Greek Games are almost over. The last two days have gone by so fast, for all their craziness, and although she'll never say never, she has to admit that Historia was right- nothing has really gone wrong. They had to send one player to the hospital, fine, and she's broken up a few fist fights over frisbee, of all things, but for the most part, everything's been going according to her plan.

Not to mention, Beta is holding steady in the standings. They lost their first place spot after the first night, but they're still in the top five and with Annie in charge, Ymir feels confident that they can make a strong comeback. If things go well for them on the last day, they could be the ones holding up that fake trophy on the stage. At the very least, they have to beat Gamma. Ymir will never hear the end of it if Reiner's fraternity wins for the second year in a row.

Sunday's events, thankfully, begin a little later, leading up the closing ceremony that night, which means that Ymir gets to sleep in past sunrise for the first time since last weekend. She still wakes up early, sends another good morning text to Historia, and begins reviewing the day's plans while she's in bed. There are events spread out over campus today, and then the team members get a pro bono dinner while Ymir sits down with her spreadsheets and determines the final winner, based on the weekend's stats. It's going to be another long day, but at the end, it'll all be over.

Ymir is in the gym with a pair of volunteers, installing the tetherball set (which, for some reason, is one of the competitive sports they've decided to host this year) when her phone buzzes with the familiar tell of a text message. She pulls out her phone, expecting a response from Historia, but she frowns when she finds this instead:

**Text from Mikasa  
** Ymir, can you come by the Beta house? Something we need to talk about.

Fuck. What did she do?

She leaves her volunteers to finish tetherball set-up (honestly, they're stupid, but how hard can it be?) and makes her way across campus in the blazing heat to the Beta house. When she enters the chapter room, her arms raised to dry the sweat in her pits, she finds two familiar faces waiting for her at a table in the corner.

"That was fast," Mikasa says, glancing up when Ymir approaches. She sits on one side, a small stack of papers laid out in front of her. Sitting across from her is Historia. Her binder of Greek Games documents sits on the floor beside her chair, and Ymir gets a strange, twilight zone feeling as she takes the third seat, glancing between them.

"I was just at the gym," she says. "Uh, what's this about?"

Mikasa slides a piece of paper across the table.

"I just want to confirm," she says, "that this is yours."

Ymir glances down. Immediately, she recognizes her own shitty handwriting.

"This is my reflection thing," she says, picking up the sheet. God, she really does write like a middle schooler. "From the sisterhood retreat last weekend- wait, am I, like, getting graded on this or something?"

"No," Mikasa says. "But it is concerning."

Ymir furrows her brow. "What?"

Mikasa pulls the paper back, setting it apart from her stack. "We have a representative from national headquarters visiting our chapter this weekend, so we pushed back our executive board meeting from last Sunday to this morning. We didn't get a chance to read through the reflections from the retreat until today, and-"

Ymir narrows her eyes. "You guys read those?"

Mikasa huffs. "I told you that we would."

"Okay, but I thought it was supposed to be anonymous?"

"It was supposed to be," she says, holding up the paper. "But for some reason, you signed your name."

Sure enough, Ymir's name is written there, a flourishing scribble at the bottom of the page. In her defense, she had to write a lot of personal statements in high school detention, always with a mandatory signature at the bottom, and she must have slipped back into that habit.

"That was probably the other Ymir," she says. She furrows her brow. "Am I in trouble?"

Mikasa sets the paper down. "The executive board read your reflection this morning, and what we found concerning was the confession that you made in your statement."

Ymir stares at her. "...confession?"

She reads from the sheet: "I joined Beta to impress a girl. I thought being in a sorority would make her look at me. I wasn't even going to stay this long. I planned to drop out as soon as I got the girl. But that didn't happen-"

"Oh my god," Ymir exclaims, cringing. "You can stop."

"Basically," Mikasa says, turning to Ymir, "you wrote that you joined Beta under false pretenses. You pledged with the intention to drop out after using your probationary membership for personal gains."

Ymir squints. "That reading is a little generous."

"Regardless," Mikasa sighs, setting the paper aside. "It's a violation of the bylaws."

"Wait, what?"

"When you pledged as a new member," Mikasa says as she pulls out another sheet of paper, "you promised that you had true intentions and that you would not use your sisterhood for false gains."

She slides the paper over to Ymir, who scans it quickly to find that it's a copy of her new member pledge, and that everything Mikasa says is true. Ymir's signature is at the bottom of this page too, although she remembers, this time, signing with intention.

"Wait, then," Ymir says, glancing up. "Why is Historia here?"

"As panhellenic president, I oversee a lot of things on campus," Historia explains, leaning forward to cross her hands over the table. "Not only the panhellenic council, which includes you, but a variety of other things, like membership qualifications."

It dawns on Ymir, and she whips around to look at Mikasa.

"You ratted me out?" she exclaims. She leans in, lowering her voice, and hisses, "to Historia?"

"I took a vow of integrity when I became president," Mikasa retorts sharply. She jabs a finger on the piece of paper, glaring at Ymir. "This is not integrity."

"You also took a vow of sisterhood. To me, your sister!"

Ymir sits back in her chair, huffing. "Does it really matter anymore? I also wrote a bunch about how much I like Beta and how glad I am that I stayed and stuff! Anyways, Historia's supposed to be the most integral of us all and she already-"

Historia coughs.

Ymir stops and stares at her. "What?"

Historia folds her hands together. "You misused the word  _integral_."

"Sorry, what?"

"She's right," Mikasa says. "There's no adjectival form of  _integrity_."

Ymir glances back at Historia, dumbfounded, until she reads the clear meaning in her eyes:  _don't rat us both out, you stupid bitch_.

"Okay, fine," Ymir exclaims, throwing her hands up. "I did that and it's true and no one knew except me, especially not Historia and Sasha and maybe some other people too. What's the point here?"

Mikasa sighs. "Look, Ymir, this isn't that serious. I know that no matter what your intentions were when you joined Beta, you're committed to this sisterhood now and that's what really matters."

"So... we're good?"

"However," Mikasa finishes, "we value integrity in our members. And no matter how committed you are now, you intentionally misled us when you pledged to join Beta. I don't know at what point this sisterhood became real for you, but you swore an oath of loyalty and somewhere along the way, you broke that oath."

She frowns. "Normally, that's all I'd say. But like I said earlier, we have a representative from headquarters visiting and- to be honest, she wasn't pleased with our chapter's performance. She felt that it was important to hold our members to a higher standard across the board.

"I'm sorry," Mikasa says, "but the executive council has no choice in this matter. We have to adhere to the bylaws, and the bylaws state that you have to face the consequences for violating your member agreement."

She reaches into her stack of paper. From the bottom, she pulls out a slip of pink paper and hands it to Ymir. "You're on probation for the rest of the semester."

Ymir glances at the paper, then back up at her. "There's less than a week left in the semester."

"Then I guess it's not that bad," Mikasa says loudly.

"Oh, I get it. You're going on easy on me."

"Unfortunately," Historia says, drawing Ymir's gaze towards her, "it's not that simple."

Ymir blinks. "What?"

Historia purses her lips. "I have to suspend you from the panhellenic council as well."

"Wait, what?" Ymir exclaims, jerking upright in her chair. "I thought this was just about me and Beta. Panhellenic is separate, isn't it?"

"You're only qualified to be a panhellenic officer if you're in good standing with your chapter," Historia explains, spreading her hands apart. "So if you're suspended from Beta, then you're also suspended from serving on panhellenic."

Ymir drops her hands onto the table, staring at Historia. "But what does that mean for the Greek Games?"

"You can't work on the Greek Games anymore," Historia says softly.

"...what?"

"I know how hard you've worked this semester," Historia says, reaching across the table to grab her hand. "And Mikasa and I are just following the rules, okay? It's not like either of us actually want to do this to you, but the woman from Beta headquarters already told Levi-"

"Oh, fuck him."

"-and he's technically my boss," Historia says with a slight growl, "so I have to do this. Normally, he wouldn't give a shit about something like this, but he's had it out for you ever since you blackmailed him with porn, so-"

"Wait," Mikasa says, "what?"

"So that's just the way it has to be," Historia sighs. She squeezes Ymir's hand. "Unfortunately, that's what we have to do."

Ymir stares at her for a moment, quiet; then she sighs, her shoulders slumping, and Historia's hand slips from her grasp as she sinks back in her chair. "I've gotta go- find some volunteers, I guess. They're all a bunch of idiots, but they should be able to follow my instructions."

Historia stands, grabbing her binder from the floor. "I'll come with you."

The door to the Beta house closes softly behind them when they leave. They squint as they step into the bright afternoon sunlight, and the day's heavy heat settles over them again. Ymir feels sweat running down her back as she turns to Historia with a sigh. It's funny that they're here again, face to face on sorority row, the place where so much has happened between them, where so much has gone wrong in both of their lives. Ymir rubs her forehead and grimaces.

"I'm sorry," she says softly. "This is a mess and it's all because of me."

Historia looks up at her, binder tucked under one arm. "If you're going to blame anyone, it should be the rep from Beta headquarters. She pushed Mikasa into punishing you."

She gives Ymir a small smile. "Or you could blame me, since I'm technically the reason you can't finish the games."

"I would never blame you," Ymir says. She takes out her phone, ready to send a cry for help to the volunteer group chat, but something is weighing on her. She lowers her phone. "I'm really sorry."

"Ymir-"

"I'm serious," Ymir says. "Everything's going to shit and it's my fault."

Historia reaches over and puts a gentle hand on her arm. "Ymir, everything is always going to shit."

She can't help but grin at that. "I mean, you're not wrong, but this time, it's, like, totally all on me. If I hadn't joined my sorority under false pretenses as a scheme to get close to you, then none of this would have ever happened."

"Exactly," Historia says, smiling.

Ymir blinks. "What?"

"If you hadn't schemed your way into Beta, we wouldn't be here right now, would we?"

"You mean, we wouldn't be in this mess? Yeah, that's what I'm saying."

"No," Historia says, and she steps closer. "We wouldn't be here right now."

Oh.  

"Sometimes," Historia says, her voice softer, "things have a way of working themselves out. Sometimes we end up where we need to be, and it doesn't really matter how we got there, because sometimes you just know that this is the way things are meant to be, even if it takes you a while to realize it."

She smiles, glancing away. "I know that we haven't really had a chance to talk about us, or whatever this is, but I think it's time to start, so-"

"I want you," Ymir says.

Historia looks at her.

"Sorry," Ymir mutters, shaking her head. "That was weird."

"No," Historia says. "I want you to say what you feel."

They lock eyes.

"I want you," Ymir says again.

"I want you too," Historia says.

Ymir swallows. "I want this, whatever it is. I want us, even if it's complicated."

"I don't think we'll ever be simple," Historia says. "But I want that too."

Something stirs in Ymir's heart. "I..."

Historia's gaze is strong. "Just say it, please."

"I think I might love you," Ymir exclaims. "Is that crazy?"

Historia splits into a grin. "Not if I might love you too."

Her hand is still on Ymir's arm, and their fingers find each other, tangling together in the shadows of the sorority house. They stand on the doorstep, staring at each other, something wild and magical tingling through their veins as their hearts beat in time.

"So," Ymir says, smiling.

Historia squeezes her hand. "So, you'll come visit me in Innsbruck this summer."

"Or you'll come find me on the tour," Ymir says. "And next year..."

Next year, a thought that has drawn so much fear into her heart in the last few weeks: the uncertainty, the challenge, the inevitable end of everything that she knows and loves. But she says it now, and there is a light in Historia's eyes that tells her that she has nothing to fear.

"We'll be back next year," Historia says, stepping closer. Her eyes light up. "Ooh, we get to work on recruitment together in the fall."

Ymir rips the Greek Games binder out from under her arm and tosses it onto the sidewalk. "See, that's what I mean about us being complicated."

Historia bursts into a laugh. "Come on, we work great together. We'll get to sit next to each other at so many meetings."

"Don't sweet-talk me about work," Ymir says. Historia's hand lands on her waist, and she pulls their bodies closer despite the heat. "I don't want to think about my responsibilities right now."

"Then I'll give you something else to think about," Historia murmurs.

She tilts her chin up, her eyes fluttering shut as one of Ymir's hands finds it hold along her jawbone, fingertips pressing gently into her skin. Ymir kisses her; the world around them stops moving, stops being, and for a few moments, it's just them, standing in familiar place, falling into a familiar touch. Ymir can feel the sunrise as she kisses Historia, the way Historia looked that night at the red light. Historia's hands are on her waist, her shoulders, her arms, and Historia's lips are soft when they press into hers, warm like they were that night so long ago at the bonfire. Her hand wraps itself in the fabric of Ymir's shirt, pulling their bodies closer. Ymir pulls back for a moment, just to look at her. Historia smiles, pushes one hand back in her hair, and then she leans in again, this time with Ymir's arm wrapped around her waist, her hands clutched together over Ymir's shoulders.

The world comes back slowly- first, the sunlight, shining brightly as they blink at each other when they break. Then the heat, the cicadas, and everything around them, standing on the doorstep of the house in the daylight, their arms still wrapped around each other.

Historia presses her lips together, smiling. She sets her hands on Ymir's shoulders and leans back a little, Ymir's arms catching around her waist. "I don't know about might," she says with a wink in her eye. "I think you definitely love me."

Ymir flushes. "God, stop embarrassing me in front of my crush."

Something buzzes in her pocket suddenly, and she swears, reaching down to pull out her phone, which has been lighting up with messages from her volunteers, wondering where the hell she is. "Oh, shit," she says. "We still have to take care of the Games. We need someone to supervise each event and someone to calculate the standings for the final competition- you know what, I left my checklist in the gym. I can just split up the tasks and hand them out, and it should be-"

Historia grabs her binder from the sidewalk and takes Ymir's hands, starting down the front step. "Then let's go to the gym. We'll figure it out."

There's a commotion when they arrive at the gym, stepping inside to the relief of air conditioning, and Ymir wipes sweat from her furrowed brow. The setup is behind schedule now, but the first event is still half an hour away and it's just tetherball, so it shouldn't be too hard to prepare for, as long as her volunteers have stuck around the final day of the Games. Historia leads her onto the court, and they stop beneath the basketball hoop, watching the scene unfold in front of them. A group of girls in maroon tank tops are gathered in a circle around the tetherball pole, passing around a stack of papers, each of them armed with a pen as they listen to instructions from someone who appears to be their ringleader. Ymir takes a step forward, letting go of Historia's hand, and frowns. Hang on, that's-

"Sasha?" she calls. "Annie?"

The girls turn, and Ymir recognizes all of them now- it's the Beta team that's competing in the Greek Games, already dressed for the last events of the weekend. They're holding steady in the top five on the scoreboard, but for some reason, they're here now and- Ymir stops on the edge of their circle, pointing across at Sasha. "Is that my clipboard?"

Sasha tears off a sheet and passes it to the Beta sister next to her. "We heard what happened."

"Oh my god, the gossip at this school is insatiable-"

"Mikasa texted me," Annie explains. She doesn't look up as she speaks, flipping through the stack of pages in her hand. Ymir feels a little piece of her heart break when Sasha inexplicably rips another page out and passes it to Annie. "She said that you're not allowed to work on the Greek Games anymore."

'"I'm not," Ymir says. "But that's, like, my call sheet, you can't just-"

She winces as Sasha rips out another page.

"We can," Annie says, looking up. "Because we're taking your place."

Ymir blinks. "What?"

"You're in charge of everything here," Annie says. "And your volunteers are a bunch of hungover frat guys. I know the Games are just a stupid competition, but they mean a lot to people on this campus and they'll never get done properly if you leave your volunteers in charge. So we're your new volunteers."

Ymir glances around at the Beta team. "You can't volunteer. You're competing."

Annie shrugs. "Not anymore."

"Sorry, what?"

Ymir feels a hand on her arm, and she turns around to find Historia standing there at her side, glancing down at something on her phone. "Beta forfeited," she explains, looking up at Ymir. "Mikasa just emailed me."

"Wait," Ymir exclaims, turning back to the circle. She glances around at the Beta sisters, who are holding the pages from her clipboard, their new tasks for the day. "You can't forfeit! You guys were totally going to win."

"We can win next year," Sasha says, thumbing through the remaining pages. She glances around the circle. "Who wants trophy duty?"

"You've been training this team for months!"

"We can win next year," Annie repeats. She narrows her eyes at Ymir. "And I mean that, okay? You are going to make sure we win next year."

"But you can't just-"

"But this year," she continues, cutting Ymir off, "we're forfeiting that chance, because we all know how much work you've put into these stupid Games and we're not going to let that go to waste."

The circle echoes with murmurs of support, the Beta sisters nodding in agreement. Ymir is definitely not tearing up.

Sasha lowers the clipboard, her eyes going wide. "Are you crying?!"

"Don't fucking cry," Annie exclaims.

"I'm not!" Ymir yells. "Fuck you."

Sasha's chin wobbles, but she pulls it together and glances down at the devastated clipboard, taking stock of what's left. "Okay, so we all have things that we're supposed to do. It might be a little rough, but we can get it done."

"Hopefully," Annie adds, "someone other than Gamma will win."

"Yeah, fuck Gamma," one of the sister shouts.

"Fuck Gamma," Ymir mutters. She feels Historia squeezing her arm as she wipes away what are definitely not tears. "I'm glad we all have that in common, at least."

She glances down and untangles herself from the headset sitting around her neck, then hands it to Historia, who nods and moves into the center of the circle, passing the headset to Annie in exchange for her team captain badge.

"So you're my new team," Historia says, glancing around at them. "You guys have your assignments, you've got Annie and Sasha leading you, and if you need anything, I'll be moving between the different events, making sure that everything's going smoothly. Uh, do we have someone who can sit down with the scores at the end of the night? Someone who knows something about sports and won't mind doing a little math to figure out the winner."

"I volunteered to do that," Sasha says.

Ymir raises an eyebrow. "You volunteered to do math?"

"Mikasa is going to help me."

"That makes more sense."

Historia claps her hands together, looking around the circle with a freshly energetic smile. "Alright, let's finish this! Can I get a hell yeah?"

The gym echoes with shouts of "hell yeah!" and then the Beta team is off, racing out of the gym to finish the setup for the rest of the games. They take their sheets with them, disappearing out the doors in a flurry of matching, maroon tank tops, leaving Ymir and Historia behind with Annie, who puts the headset on and adjusts it against her ears. Ymir watches her sisters go, then turns back to Historia, who is looking at her, arms crossed, a small smile drawn across her face.

Ymir holds her hands up. "What am I supposed to do now? Just go home?"

"You know," Historia says, cocking her head. "You may have been suspended from participating in Greek life activities, but you're still a student at this university. You could just come and watch."

Ymir drops her hands. "Huh. I guess I didn't think of that."

"It's weird how fast this sorority stuff goes to your head."

"Don't tease me," Ymir says, reaching out to give Historia a playful shove on the shoulder. Historia grabs her hand instead, locking their fingers together. "I've had a long day."

"It's only the afternoon," Historia says. She pulls Ymir closer. "Go home, take a shower, and then come back for the closing ceremony."

She sighs, glancing down at Historia. "Are you sure? You don't need any help with your emcee duties for tonight?"

"You're not allowed to help me," Historia says sharply. She lets go of Ymir's hand, shoving her towards the door. "Now go!"

"Fine, fine!"

She does what Historia suggests. She goes back to her room, washes off the sweat and grime of the day, then dresses again, discarding her uniform panhellenic tee-shirt for something classic and casual: jeans and a tank top, back to basics. She sits in her room for a moment, wondering what she's supposed to do for the rest of the night, who she's supposed to sit with at the closing ceremony, since all of her friends will be taking her place managing the event. Then she glances across the room and her gaze latches onto the dirty shirt strewn across the back of her desk chair, blood splattered around the collar. Ah, yes. How could she forget?

**Text from Ymir  
** how's ur nose?

**Text from Reiner  
** still broken, thanks for asking

**Text from Ymir  
** could be worse  
ur lucky they didn't have to amputate it

**Text from Reiner  
** i don't think that's how noses work

**Text from Ymir  
** anyways i'm on probation from beta so i can't work on the games tonight  
i'm assuming that ur dragging bert along to the closing ceremony since they kicked u off the gamma team for breaking ur face  
so now ur dragging me along too!

**Text from Reiner  
** wait what???

**Text from Ymir  
** it's a long story  
it's actually not a long story at all  
i just don't feel like rehashing it over texts

**Text from Reiner  
** okay fine but you have to buy me a drink because you broke my nose

**Text from Ymir  
** technically my clipboard broke your nose  
and i think annie owns my clipboard now  
so in a way, it was really annie who broke your nose

**Text from Reiner  
** oh god

**Text from Ymir  
** everything comes full circle eventually  
also historia and i are official now

**Text from Reiner  
** WHAT  
HOW IS THAT THE FOOTNOTE ON THIS CONVERSATION

The sun is just beginning to set when Ymir leaves her room for the closing ceremony of the Greek Games. She walks across campus, hands in her pockets, falling in line with the crowd of students heading in the same direction. They're dressed in their teams' colors, waving flags with Greek letters and trying to hide beer can in their pockets. She follows the crowd back to the football stadium as a comfortable darkness settles across the world, finally providing some relief from the heat of the day. The stadium lights go on, casting long shadows across the field. Music streams through the speakers as the students fill their seats. Ymir hangs back, waiting outside the stadium entrance for Reiner and Bertholdt, who arrive hand in hand. Reiner's face is bludgeoned black and blue, a bandage taped across his broken nose; he's wearing a bright green Gamma shirt and somehow, he has been allowed to paint Gamma's letters across Bertholdt's face.

"Well, I couldn't do it on my own face," he explains, gesturing to the entire bruised situation happening up there. "Bert's representing for me."

Bertholdt scrunches his nose and winces as the paint cracks across his face. "I hate this."

Reiner slings an arm around his waist. "At least Ymir didn't break your nose."

Ymir shakes her head and turns towards the stadium. "Come on, you two. Let's go inside."

The closing ceremony begins with a parade of the teams across the field, hyping up their fans and members sitting in the audience. Ymir, Reiner and Bertholdt pick their seats at the top of the stands, above a crowd of a thousand screaming students, yelling over the music to cheer for their team. On the stage at the center of the field, there's some friendly banter between Historia and her co-emcee, Thad, that's so obviously scripted, especially because Ymir knows Historia would never be that friendly to Thad. The ceremony drags on for a while, each team captain getting the chance to say a few words of motivation (it mostly involves the team captains yelling into the mic and sending a shockwave through the sound system), before Historia finally takes center stage, signaling an approach to the end.

"There's just one last thing before we announce the winner," she says. Her voice echoes through the stadium, the audience falling quiet with anticipation. She turns her gaze up into the stands, glancing out over the audience. "I'd like to give a shout-out to the person who made all of this possible."

Reiner leans over and shakes Ymir by the shoulders, hissing in her ear. "I can't believe you finally get to tap that!"

Ymir smacks him away. "Don't talk about her like that!"

"This entire weekend was organized by someone close to me," Historia says. She turns slowly as she talks, scanning the crowd. "She's here, somewhere. Ymir, are you in the stands somewhere?"

Reiner leaps up from his seat and bellows, "She's over here!"

His scream barely echoes in the enormous stadium. Ymir smacks him, sending him falling into Bertholdt's lap, clutching at his face to protect his nose. Historia turns away, shrugging, and continues.

"Well, wherever she is," she says into the mic, "I know that she's watching, so I'd like to take a moment to thank her for all of her hard work this weekend and throughout this whole semester. Ymir, even though you couldn't be down here with me tonight, I want you to know how much I appreciate everything you've done for this community and for me."

There's a polite smattering of applause through the audience. Historia pauses, a smirk growing on her face, then adds, "Also, I'd like to start telling people that you're my girlfriend, if that's okay.

Reiner cups his hands over his mouth and shouts, "THAT'S OKAY!"

"I hate you," Ymir yells, leaning over to knock his hands away from his mouth. "Don't think I won't break another part of your face!"

"A-ha, so you admit that it was your fault!"

Bertholdt leans over Reiner and tears their flailing hands apart, hissing at them. "Stop it! Stop fighting, how old are you two?"

There's a series of ecstatic whoops through the crowd, a few catcalls, as Historia blows a kiss to the audience and turns it over to her co-host, gesturing for him to continue with the regularly scheduled program. Ymir sits back, knowing that she's red in the face, and decides that she doesn't care. She bites her lip, grinning, and then she pulls out her phone.

**Text from Ymir  
** that's more than okay ;)

On the stage, Frat Thad is reading from a notecard, thanking all of the teams for their participation, all of the volunteers for their hard work, and so on. Historia stands back, her microphone clasped in her hands; a few seconds later, she reaches into her pocket, surreptitiously looking at her phone- then she splits into a grin and glances up into the audience, her gaze scanning the crowd. She's too far away, Ymir knows, and the stadium is too big, but for a moment, Historia's gaze lingers in her direction, and Ymir's heart blooms.

"And now it's time to announce the winner of the Greek Games," Thad says into the mic. He flips his notecard, looks confused, and turns to Historia for guidance.

She's barely able to contain a roll of her eyes as she steps onto center stage and hands him the envelope with the winning team written inside.

"And the winner is," she says as he slowly pulls out the card inside. The anticipation is high in the audience, the teams gathered on the field and clutching their hands together. Anyone but Gamma, Ymir hears someone mutter behind her, and she silently agrees, because she doesn't know if she'll be able to stand Reiner in the event that Gamma wins for the second year in a row-

"Gamma Alpha Upsilon," Historia announces, and the stadium explodes.

In the aftermath, Ymir finds her.

It will take days to clean up the stadium. The stands are littered with confetti, streamers, and empty beer cans. The event volunteers, including the forfeited Beta team, are hard at work disassembling the stage when Ymir finally makes her way down to the field, escaping from the throngs of overexcited Gamma brothers, who will probably be bragging about this for the next ten years. Reiner nearly fell down the stands when he rocketed out of his seat upon hearing of Gamma's victory, and she knows that he's out there somewhere now, dragging Bertholdt along in the raucous celebrations that will last into the morning. Fine, he can have this one. Ymir will get her revenge by succeeding Reiner and Bertholdt as the cutest couple on campus.

"Hey there," she says when she finds Historia on the field.

Historia is rolling up a cord for one of the speakers, and she glances up, her fingers barely slowing in their work, smiling as Ymir approaches.

"Hey yourself," she says. "Or should I say, hey girlfriend?"

Ymir's heart skips a beat. "Yep, you should say girlfriend."

Historia grins. "What are you doing down here? Are you so committed to these games that you're going to try and help at all costs?"

"It's totally the games that I'm committed to," Ymir says, shoving her hands in her pockets. She sits down on the edge of the stage, her shoes trailing the grass, Historia in front of her as she rolls the cord. "I figure that no one will care if I'm just helping clean up. I'm responsible for all of this, anyways."

Historia rolls her eyes. "You just can't get enough of me."

"Have you seen yourself?" Ymir exclaims.

She finishes rolling the cord, a bundle of black wire forming in her arms, and then she cocks her head, stepping forward to position herself just between Ymir's knees.

"I'm glad I met you," Historia says, her voice growing softer. "I can't believe we went to the same school for two years and never crossed paths."

Ymir threads her thumbs through the belt loops in Historia's jeans. "Maybe we did. Who knows how many music parties we drunkenly made out at?"

"No," Historia says. She tosses the black cord onto the stage behind Ymir and leans forward, setting her hands on Ymir's shoulders. "I would remember you, even if I was blacked out drunk."

"That'd be quite an achievement."

"You make yourself quite hard to forget," Historia says. She bends and presses a kiss to Ymir's lips, her arms wrapping together behind Ymir's neck.

When they break, Ymir smiles up at her. "Well, don't worry. We still have next year."

"Next year," Historia echoes. "Now, kiss me again."

They'll have to spend most of the summer apart, texting, calling, remembering, separated by screens and time zones. Ymir is sure that she'll hate herself for putting them through that, and maybe Historia will hate her too. How could they do that to themselves, tying their lifelines across the world after just a few weeks of actually being something? After this, it'll be hell to do- to be together, but so far.

But the summer will grow hotter, the days will get longer, and before long, Ymir will be on a plane. She'll have endless rehearsals, winded lungs, and bruised lips, but one day soon, she'll make her way to Europe on the summer tour. And there, somewhere, somehow, she'll find Historia again. Maybe they'll meet in the Alps and spend their days bathing in the lakes. Maybe Historia will find her outside a concert hall at midnight, and maybe they'll wander the darkened streets, stealing kisses at every corner. Maybe they'll see Paris together. Maybe they'll fall in love all over again.

There would be worse things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [credits song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iQp1_GfDhwQ)


End file.
